


Great Warrior

by Thira



Series: Little, great, major- Washington's son [2]
Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Ambushes and Sneak Attacks, Ben in a brothel, Capture, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, Suicide Attempt, Washington's sickness emerging again
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-13 18:10:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 27,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11765508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thira/pseuds/Thira
Summary: Washington looked around, clapping his hands together with a small smile on his face. “Gentlemen, I think Major Tallmadge might just have saved Boston for us.”Ben smiled softly at the polite congratulations of the two staff members. “General, I think we should not waste time and try to intercept them as soon as possible.”Still, no matter his congratulations to Ben, Hamilton looked rather skeptical about that plan. “But venturing into enemy territory? That can get the men hanged as spies. I fear the difficulty will not be to find the Rangers but men to undertake that task.”“With your permission, sir, I will go with my dragoons. I can have them ready to leave at first light.”Part two of Little soldier





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *********For the person who thaught me the true value of friendship*********
> 
> So, this is part two in the series about Ben, Washington and little Thomas and of course all the rest of the wonderfull people in Turn (and less wonderfull...) Have fun with it.

The wind played with the cover of the tent, blowing snow into the room and robbing it of even the least bit of warmth. From time to time someone entered to give a report or drop a letter, but Ben scarcely looked up. His focus was on the latest intelligence on the British army. He reread reports from the last month, trying to figure out where the British would strike, when they would strike. How could the march up on Boston and think this would go unnoticed by the Continental army? Where their own soldiers paid to look the other way? Ben had ordered a report on the force levels of the separate regiments, hoping to determine if they had deserters enough that the British army would be able to simply determine the location of every enemy force and march around it, but he had no great hopes in these reports. Sadly, the only other way for the British to accomplish that task would be spies in the Continental army, in their very own midst. A rather logical conclusion given Ben’s knowledge about their own network but still disturbing. How could they find the responsible person and still counter the attack of the British? And how do this in such a short time?

So far, he had come up with nothing. His only hope, last straw so to say, was Caleb with news on Setauket. Anna was good at overhearing things and the tavern she worked at loosened the man’s tongues. She might have heard something. He begged she had or he would have to go to Washington empty handed. 

His glance lingered on the wooden ship, now sitting on his desk. If he was to be honest, he would rather not go to Washington at all. He was suddenly at a complete loss how to behave around the man, now that the general had what he wanted from Ben. Because now, he was just the weak man he was with no Thomas to brighten the picture. Ben sighted, rubbing over his face and closing his eyes for a moment, wishing he could just sleep. He was tired, bone tired- and his rips still hurt. 

“Sleeping on duty, Tallboy? Do I have to fill in a report with the old man?”

Ben looked up and the first smile of the day worked itself up his face. “Caleb.”

“In the flesh. And look at you, Bennyboy! Up and walking again.” Caleb grabbed his friend by the neck and dragged him into a bear embrace. Ben tried very hard not to wince under the pressure this put upon his bruised and broken rips and somehow, he even managed. 

Caleb then held him on arm’s length, studding him thoroughly. “You ok again?”

Ben nodded and clapped Caleb on the back, for a second only happy, that his friend was here, joking and stinking like always. That could only mean one thing: Ann was safe. At least one thing worked out in the end. But still, he had to actually hear it, before his trepidations would rest. “What news?”

That had Caleb sobered in an instance. “You know, Bennyboy, you always have been good at killing the mood”, he muttered. “A true preacher’s boy.” 

Ben shrugged, but the comment stung, oddly painful. “I thought you got used to me.”

That had Caleb snoring while he took a good sip of his flask, filled with anything but water. “Nah, or otherwise I wouldn’t try to get you wooed by every willing woman and there have been quite a few so far, right?” 

Probably. But Ben tried to overlook the ladies, Caleb always kept company with. “So? What news?”

Caleb whipped his mouth clean and held the flask out for Ben but he declined. Rolling his eyes at that disregard for good taste, Caleb tucked it away and let himself fall onto Ben’s cot, not carrying that he was still tripping from the snow. “Anna’s safe. Girl is a clever one but not as pius as you, choir boy. By the way, Benny, you should really get a room in that mansion of Washington’s. Even his little aide is in there or the Frenchman. Why are you still freezing to death out here?”

Ben ignored the comment about whom Washington chose to offer a room in the mason, fully aware that his post was to be remain a secret, something Caleb liked to forget from time to time- not to forget he had no right to claim anything from Washington. Anyways, his mind was far more occupied with the muttered first part of Caleb’s speech. His brow furrowed, not liking the sound of it at all. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Caleb huffed angrily. “Just that you work yourself to an early grave for him and I thought…”

“Not your complaining about my quarters, Caleb. Anna!”

Caleb grimaced. It was more than obvious, he wished he had just shut his mouth about it. “That I come baring gifts”, he finally only said. 

The unpleasant sound of Caleb’s suggestion about Anna momentarily forgotten, Ben leaned forward, hanging on his every word. “You have news on the British? Thank god!” Maybe his talk later with Washington wouldn’t be such a disaster after all. If they would have more intelligence on the British movements, they could even hope to save Boston.  
“Aye, but you won’t like it, Tallboy. It’s Boston.”

Ben nodded darkly. “Yeah, I’ve heard.”

Caleb looked up from under the blanket, he had thrown over his shoulders in an attempt to stop his shivering. “You did?” 

Ben got up and shrugged off his coat, handing it to Caleb. He pointedly ignored the violent headshaking and waited patiently till Caleb saw reason- or just was cold enough to accept it. He was the one that had rowed through a storm and snow after all, not Ben. If it would be up to Ben, he would give his officers coat indefinably to Caleb, for he was far more often in the snow, but it was a symbol of rank and so they had to play along the rules of the army. Still, if anyone knew what freezing meant, it was Ben. The Delaware had never fully left him after all. “A letter from Philadelphia”, he said finally as he walked back to his desk. “The problem is, we know just this, an attack. Nothing about the troop forces, plans or current location of the forces.”

Caleb wrapped himself in the woolen warmth, thanking heaven or whoever was listening or Ben’s good heart. “Aye, Bennyboy, then I definitively have something for you!”  
“You do?” God, he sounded like a little child afraid of the dark, that had just been offered a parent’s embrace or a candle. 

“Aye. Simcoe is to lead the Rangers there. I figured that if we could intercept them, we can interrogate one of them. Plus, I know how many there will be.”

This gained Caleb the second smile of his friend so far. “You are the best, Caleb! Thank you.”

“Thank Anna.” Another long sip out of his flask. “But you tell Washington, right? Honestly, I don’t want to go outside again for the next months. Ask me again when it’s summer. Maybe then.”

Ben just hit him friendly on the shoulder. “Just tell me what I need to know and then sleep well.”

The grin Caleb gave him made him even forget his morning for a few minutes. Unfortunately, it all come back to him rather clearly when he found himself standing outside the command tent, palm’s sweating despite the freezing temperatures and wondering how the talk would go. 

Gathering his courage, he stepped into the tent. “Sir.”

Washington looked up from the maps he had been studying and Ben realized a second later, they were not alone. Both the Marquis de Lafayette and Hamilton looked at him bewildered. None of them had yet figured out why Washington was keeping such close counsel with a major and the young aide of the general had been brusque with Ben more than once. He probably feared for his post, Ben figured, even though he knew that the Colonel could rest assured to never lose it to Ben. 

Quickly, Ben tried to do the protocol and his manners honor. “Marquis, Colonel, I do apologize for disturbing your counsel. I was not aware the general was occupied. I will leave you to your meeting and come back later.” He bowed to Washington. “Sir.”

Ben already was on his way out, when Washington called him back. “I can’t remember having given you permission to leave, Major.”

Ben cringed and slowly turned around, dreading what was to come. “Sir.”

“What I can remember on the other hand, is asking you to come later this day to plan the coming battle with me- which would be now, I assume.”

At hearing this, Hamilton and Lafayette exchanged a startled glance. “I was unaware that the knowledge of this danger was so widespread in camp, General”, interjected the Frenchman softly, eyeing Ben. 

“It isn’t”, was the only reply from the general that left the marquis with little else to do than incline his head and back down, but Ben still had the feeling that this would be a fight he couldn’t win. 

Maybe he should have written a report that he simply could hand over now and leave, he thought ruefully. Ben looked over to the two men, that were studying him more than plainly. Why had he never given one thought about Washington’s staff? He had somehow simply thought he would meet the general alone again. Silly him! The general was a busy man after all. 

“Do you have news, Major?”, rang the dark baritone of the Commander in chief through the tent. 

Ben nodded, avoiding Washington’s eyes and looking at the map instead. “May I, sir?”

Washington’s glance lay on Ben, looking the boy up and down, brow furrowed. “Go on.”

“The British forces will be two thousand men strong…”

“Only that few? I can hardly believe it.” Hamilton shook his head in clear rejection. “Two thousand is too few to take the city and hold it, the British know that. We cannot plan with this…”  
“With no one but civilians there? I wouldn’t reject the idea that quickly, Alexander.” Washington’s voice was soft, even, but his aide-de-camp was silenced at once.  
The casual usage of the man’s Christian name gave a sting to Ben’s heart. It seemed he really had gotten his hopes up again. He quickly hid his emotional turmoil behind a blank mask, before he looked up to meet the general’s eyes again. “Permission to speak freely, your Excellency.”

That ensured him Washington’s absolute attention. The general gave him a tiny nod, barely there but still, they understood each other. Hamilton and Lafayette were to trust than- but Ben still decided to keep the names of his sources hidden. He thought about Nathan. Just in case. “My courier has returned with word from our source on Long Island.”  
Clear disgust now showed on the colonel’s face. “A spy? You keep contacts with spies on enemy territory? What does this make you?”

Again, Ben looked to Washington, trying very hard to keep the hurt the clear disapproval in the officer’s voice had caused him hidden. How much should he reveal?  
“That makes him my head of intelligence and life saver on several occasions, Alexander”, Washington said, his tone giving no room for discussion. “Benjamin is more than a trustworthy source to me.”

After that, Hamilton turned to Ben again and bowed his head. “My apologies, Major, I was out of line and short sighted. Please, forgive me.”

Ben only nodded, still bathing in the warmth that Washington’s words had provided him with. At least, his work was appreciated right now. Trustworthy…

“My source also found out, that the Queen’s Rangers are to meet with the army on a rendezvous point somewhere out in the woods before the city. He wasn’t sure if the whole army is ment to venture there in small groups, but if we manage to intervene the Rangers, we might be able to get one of them to talk.”

“Do we know which way they will take?”

“Only, that first they have to report to a Major André in York City, what will delay them for a few days, giving us the possibility to plan an ambush. Even if we don’t know the exact location of them, we can track them down near York City. Given it is still enemy territory, they most likely won’t be too cautious.”

Washington looked around, clapping his hands together with a small smile on his face. “Gentlemen, I think Major Tallmadge might just have saved Boston for us.”

Ben smiled softly at the polite congratulations of the two staff members. “General, I think we should not waste time and try to intercept them as soon as possible.”

Still, no matter his congratulations to Ben, Hamilton looked rather skeptical about that plan. “But venturing into enemy territory? That can get the men hanged as spies. I fear the difficulty will not be to find the Rangers but men to undertake that task.”

“With your permission, sir, I will go with my dragoons. I can have them ready to leave at first light.”

“A bolt move! But it speaks of character to lead by example. I have to congratulate you yet again, Major”, the marquis exclaimed, this time even wholeheartedly.

Before Ben could respond, Washington silenced the three of them with a hand. “Marquis, Colonel, I want you to ready the men. We must be able to break camp at any moment for there will be no telling, when the information about the British will reach us. But pray, don’t tell the men, we base these on a spy’s word.”

“As you wish.” But still, the two lingered, clearly unsure how to proceed. 

“Do go now. I wish for a word with the major in private.” At that, the two of them left, but not without sending curios glances over their shoulders back to Ben, leaving Ben alone with Washington and his dreads.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning! This chapter isn't exactly violent, but it isn't peaceful either. I took the liberty to give Washington a bit of an attack of his sickness. Not a full psychiatric break, but a hint to get a bit more tension in the plot. If you don't want to read something like this, skip the chapter.

As soon as Lafayette and Hamilton had left the tent, Washington walked over to Ben, a look on his face that the young major couldn’t really decipher. “You seem eager to ride into battle.”

Ben bowed his head, hands nervously playing with each other. He really wished he had brought his helmet with him. That at least would give him something to hold onto. Washington’s presence suddenly was simply too much to bare, even though he once would have given everything for the general’s attention. But now, all he could think of is Thomas and Washington’s words. Of course, it had been about Thomas. His head, his thoughts were suddenly to heavy, pressing him down. Why had he hoped for more? “I just wanted to be of help.”

Washington raised an eyebrow, looking the major up and down. “You are of help, Benjamin. You provided us with that intelligence, haven’t you?”

Ben shook his head, thinking about the wooden ship on his desk. Should he ask Washington to give it to Thomas as a present? “That compliment belongs to Caleb and Anna.”

“Humble, I see. Tell me, Major, are you well enough to ride?”

Surprised, Ben looked up from the floor he had been studding again. “Sir?”

“You were shot, Benjamin”, the general simply stated. 

At that, Ben was quick to clarify any assumptions. He doesn’t want to look a hero like Arnold. He just wants to help- and a task that doesn’t have him sitting in his tent with too much room to think sounds good to him. Maybe exhaustion will fight of his nightmares of the people he had lost. “Only a flesh wound, sir.”

Washington is quiet for a moment, before he gestures to a chair. “Sit, Benjamin.”

Reluctantly, Ben followed the command, hoping to escape this tent soon and telling his stupid heart to stop seeing a dawn of hope whenever Washington used his Christian name.   
The general takes the other chair, eyeing Ben for a long moment. The boy seemed different, very different. Yesterday evening he had been grieving, yes, but he also had been full of trust and his usual attitude towards him, but now… It seemed to Washington that Thomas wasn’t the only lost orphan in the camp. He gave himself a push, remembering Marthas half joked word’s this morning when he had brought her Thomas. `You know, we could always adopt both of them. That would spare them a bit of a heartbreak of losing each other.´ He had given her a stern glare back then, not even granting the idea with an answer but he couldn’t deny, that there might have been some truth in it- not that he would start adopting his staff! “Is there something bothering you?”

Ben made a point avoiding his commander’s eyes. “Why don’t you trust me to lead this mission?”, he finally asked.

Damn it, boy! Of course, he trusted him. He had always trusted him. With his life, with this war, with the intelligence. Tallmadge was his right-hand man! Who else should he trust? A question, that had been asking himself the last weeks, months. “You were wounded on your last mission. There are others, healthier. It is an unnecessary risk that I will not take.”

“I am well.”

Ben’s tone bordered at insubordination and Washington felt his temper rise at this, despite his better judgment. Not now, not in front of the boy! “I have given you an order, Major, and I will not repeat myself. If you are that well, then you are well enough to remember your place!”

If possible, Ben’s head ducked even lower upon hearing this. “That I do perfectly well.”

It was a soft reply, but still, he heard it and it had temper and sickness both digging their claws into his heart, his mind. He didn’t know what it actually was, that let him lose control. Tallmadge had ben bolt before, had argued with him, had disobeyed him, but today, today was different. The reply from congress with their decline to send more money, more equipment, the news of a new battle and Benedict’s request to him to get paid all weighted heavy on him, but still… Still he would always ask himself upon looking back, what had possessed him- and why of all people Ben had to be the one to suffer. 

Washington’s hand slammed on the table, the softness and friendship he had wanted to remind the boy of all but forgotten. Now he could only stare at the man in utter fury, his hand coming down while something, someone, in the tent crawled like a hungry dog. 

Ben jumped back, when Washington’s fist slammed into the table, eyes going wide. He had just thought about a way of persuading the general and of a polite thanks for his concern, when Washington grabbed his should, fingers painfully digging into him. His breath caught in his throat as he starred at the mask of fury, that Washington wore. He was not ashamed to admit he trembled like a leaf. 

“Do you disobey me as well? Like Lee, like Bradford? You, of all people?”

Ben violently shook his head, fear evident in his eyes. “No!”, he stuttered but Washington didn’t seem to hear him. 

“You want this command? Fine! Consider it a test. If you do not bring me one of the Rangers to question, I will have the interrogator question you on your loyalties.”

Ben licked his lips but tried to reason with Washington one last time. “I have always…”

“Out!” He shoved the boy away and Ben fled the tent but even so, he wasn’t quick enough to hide his tears. 

Tears. It was that simple thing, that let his furry subside. He starred at the spot that had been occupied by Ben mere seconds ago, while the clouds gave his mind free, while the sickening reality came crushing into him. Benjamin. Washington blinked, unable to comprehend what he had done, his mind racing. Let this be a nightmare, he could only think. Please, let this be a nightmare, something to end, something not to be true. His own cheeks were damp with tears, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t whip them away. 

At this moment, Washington didn’t think about the consequences that this outburst could have on the war, on the view of him. He didn’t care if this would prove his enemies right that he was unfit to lead, that his temper was dangerous and his mind crazy. All he could think about was Ben’s fearful glance and his own words. He had to find the boy, he had to talk to him. The adoption papers he had wanted him to sign now seemed to laugh at him. He and raising a child? He had nearly hit one of his officers and without any reason. He should have seen it as a sign of providence that he wasn’t able to conceive a child. What had he done?

The general stumbled out of his tent, the usual determination and grace he prided himself with was gone. He wasn’t General George Washington now, he was only a simple man with a task that seemed suddenly too large to him. Would Benjamin ever forgive him? Could they ever go back to their friendliness or would the boy always see him as a monster, as the sick mind he was? Was it fate laughing him in the face that only now he realized how very true Martha’s words had been? God, what had he done?

For what seemed like eternity, he ran through the camp, calling out for Ben, seeking him everywhere and yet not seeing a glimpse of the boy. It was only when Hamilton caught him by the arm, that he realized what he had been doing. 

“General, you are not well.”

Oh, that mockery. The same words… He had said these same words to Ben. “Benjamin, where is Benjamin Tallmadge?”

Concern now shone on his aide’s face. “Calm down, sir, what happened?”

But Washington didn’t feel like explaining. He didn’t think he could anyways. What should he say? That he had shouted at the boy for no reason? That he had threatened him? God, he had really threatened Benjamin. All he had wanted was that the major saw reason, that he didn’t risk his life unnecessary. He had achieved the exact opposite. “Just tell me where he is, Alexander.”

“I saw him last with his horse, sir. It was on your instructions that he wanted to leave camp, he told the guards. We can hunt him…”

“No!” There would be no hunting him down. “I simply wish to talk to him.”

“I’m sorry sir, he is gone.”

Gone! Washington was sure he was going to be sick. 

“We can sent somebody after him, sir.”

Washington nodded, suddenly drained of all his energy. “Brewster, sent Brewster. Tell him, he must intercept the major at all costs and tell Brewster, tell him to give the major my apologies.” 

Hamilton looked at him quizzically but thankfully, he held his tongue. After his young aide had hurried away, Washington stood there, wondering what to do, how to get on. It was only when a pair of soft arms laid themselves around his body, that he realized he had somehow made it back to the mansion, to Martha. 

He let his face rest in the crouch of her neck, inhaling her soft smell and asking himself, how someone like him could be granted such a wonder like her? When would his temper lash out at her like he had at Benjamin? Maybe he should send her away, far away where he could never hurt her. 

“What happened, George?”

But he couldn’t. “Do you believe there is a god watching us?

Martha cupped his face and studied him, worry in her eyes. “Why are you asking this, George? Please, do tell me what happened. You are scaring me.”

Washington shook his face and let himself fall onto the floor, head ducked in shame. “Because if there is one, I might be able to beg for forgiveness.” He could only hope that this would bring back the boy, his boy. Tears rolled down his face again. God, please!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, do you like it?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The consequences of Washinton's accusations...

Ben fled the tent with burning eyes, only able to hold himself upright till the first trees obscured the sight of him. He tried to compose himself quickly, to be strong as the unbreakable image he tried to withhold in the day. However, he failed miserably as he broke down into a sobbing mess. It was difficult to breath, difficult to think, impossible to pull himself together.

Tears ran down his face as he pressed a fist into his mouth to try and muffle the sobs he couldn’t keep down. Each felt like a stab in his still tender ribs, but he wasn’t vain enough to blame the tears on his injuries. Only one word was ghosting through his mind as he shook with tears. Why? What on earth had he done?

He leaned against the rough trunk of the tree and closed his eyes. Where had he let his General down? He begged for it to be nothing more than a nightmare, like this God awful war. Ben wasn't even sure he could imagine a nightmare worse than his reality. 

He wondered where it had gone wrong. Yesterday evening, the man had dined with him and offered condolences to him over his father’s death, even offered him his friendship. God, he was so stupid! As if George Washington, Commander in Chief of the Continual Army would care for a low ranking Major. He had simply been a means to an end and who could fault the General? Ben had been insubordinate, had followed his own judgement rather than Washington’s far too often and had failed more then once.

Washington had wanted the boy, nothing more and Ben should be more than thankful for the barrenness of the General’s marriage or Thomas would be judged by Ben’s faults as well. What would than happen to the child in a camp full of strangers and without a parent or guardian? Caleb was away more often than with the troops. It would have been a mercy to bring young Thomas back to his grandfather and bear the consequences that would follow.

Ben tried to see it this way, he really did. To be thankful for Washington’s mercy regarding the boy and his forgiveness for past errors, but a small voice in his head didn’t allow it. The small voice had hoped for more, for comfort, for a crutch. The concern of the General had been a hope he had already forsaken after the last reprimand. He should have known better though. Washington had told him himself after all, what Ben was for him: Head of Intelligence, nothing more or less. He felt so stupid for thinking otherwise.  
It hadn’t been his first lecture, far from it to be honest, but it had been by far the worst of them all. Washington wasn’t just disappointed, he wasn’t just angry, he had in a roundabout way, given Ben a simple command: Die in the field or I’ll give you a hand with it. Or a noose, to be correct, for nothing else awaited a traitor and of that he had been accused.

Ben was Head of Intelligence, well, more like had been Head of Intelligence and he knew better than anybody else Washington’s cover-up tactics. He had seen it with Bradford and Hickey, with Worthington, with Lee. The man never showed the weakness in his staff, never gave his men reason to doubt. Benjamin Tallmadge would just be another name in the long list of men lost in action, presumed dead. He had done nothing else with the deserters only days ago, after all. So, there was a God, Ben thought bitterly- and he wasn’t well-disposed towards him at all.

Ben prayed for forgiveness and wiped the tears from his face and pushed himself from the trunk, considering his options for a moment. There weren’t many. Suddenly, a flicker of hope flared up in him. Maybe it had only been a show. Some scene Washington had planned to woo an enemy into a trap like he had done before countless times. Ben then remembered that the only people present had been Hamilton and Lafayette- and Washington had them dismissed before the delivery of the accusation. Ben smiled sadly, but it was more a grimace than anything else. It was a nice thought, a last straw of hope.

Where did that leave him? He could go to the British and sell over his friends, honor and commander for a red coat, but he would prefer death, every death, even a noose from Washington himself. That left only one path for him. Ben closed his eyes and thought about the pride in his father’s eyes when he had seen him in the uniform, a uniform he had planned on dying in if need be.

He pulled himself together. It was of no use! If he really planned on trying to fulfill this command, he would need other clothes. So, he thought, change, get his horse and ammunition and ride to New York- and under all costs, avoid Caleb. He would not drag his best friend into this mess with him, not if he could help it. Caleb would probably grieve about Ben’s death and capriole under the new Head of Intelligence, but he would follow orders in the end, he would live on.

Ben all of a sudden wondered if Hamilton would replace him or somebody new, who had caught the General’s eye. If he would have to take a guess, he would go with Hamilton. He was Washington’s aide, his confidant and right hand man. It was unbecoming of him, Ben knew it, but he envied Hamilton the undying trust the man always received from Washington.   
He made it to his tent without meeting one of his dragoons or worse Caleb and changed into civilian clothes. A last stroke to the uniform he had held so dear in his heart, the cause it stood for, the person. Abruptly, Ben turned away and grabbed for his feather. He owed Caleb an explanation, even if he didn’t understand it himself, he still owed his friend the try of one and not the false words of safety Nathan had given him. Ben would at least try to die in honor, of that he could reassure Caleb as a consolation.

Tallmadge. Ben stared at his signature. He was the last of his family, of this name. His father had had plans for his boys, his mother dreams. Soon, it would all be forgotten. He wished Samuel at least would have survived the war. He had been betrothed to a girl in New York before the war. All he had been talking about, even while enlisting, had been her eyes, her smile and his first born, he had wanted to name after their father. Ben sighed, their name was not blessed with luck.

His horse greeted him with a snort, head ducking as Ben stroked the soft fur. Maybe the animal would make it back to camp, just like it had managed last time, when Gamble had captured him.

“Major Tallmadge.”

Ben froze. Not him, he could only plead, not him of all people. Fate really was having a laugh with him, sending the one person that represented everything he lost as a farewell. Ben turned around to honor protocol one last time. “Colonel Hamilton, sir.”

The young aide studied the plain clothes thoughtfully. “I see you are heading out to act upon your plan.”

“Not quite, sir.” He wouldn’t elaborate, not without a command. That much pride he still had.

The Colonel nodded thoughtfully. “I see. Well, it is better that way I’d say. Even if not many people know about your… your position in this war, it is still an unnecessary risk to send you within enemy reach.”

Ben inclined his head, hoping to flee out of the Colonel's gaze. He wasn’t sure how long he could play this part anymore. “Your foresight is exemplary as always, Colonel. If you would excuse me now, please, there is a matter I have to attend to for the General.”

“Of course, Major. Safe travels.”

Ben doubted they would be but thanked the aide nevertheless.

The guards let him pass after some confusion, but it wasn’t Ben’s first trip out of camp in civilian clothes for the General, so it only took him a few minutes to have them convinced. As soon as he passed the last border of the camp, of his home for the last months, he spurred the horse to leave it all behind as quickly as he could. Was there any hope that Washington would pardon him if he did manage to survive and bring back one of the Rangers? Ben could hope- but when had his hopes ever been answered?  
"What devil possessed you?” Caleb stormed into the mansion only minutes after Washington had spoken with Alexander, a letter in his hand and the other on his pistol in a more than clear statement. “Sir,” he added, more sarcastic than anything else.

 

Washington looked up from the chair Martha had ushered him into after watching him crumbling on the floor. It was the only comfort he had accepted, waving off any reassurance and justification she found for him. What had he drilled into Ben’s head? Better no excuse than a bad one.

Washington’s hair was still a clear mess from all his tearing, as was the rest of him, red eyed and shaking as he was. It took a second and an indignant Martha to point out for him, that Caleb wasn’t here because his aide had found him. For a short moment, Washington felt hope. The boy sure must have ran into his friend and told him everything. He had never seen anyone more defensive than the two over each other- except maybe Ben over him. God, please! “You found Major Tallmadge.”

“Found him?” Caleb was screaming now, cold fury in his eyes that nearly had Washington call for a guard. “I haven’t found him, you made sure that, didn’t you? You made sure that no one would ever do that after all. A fine way to dispose a body. Give me one good reason not to shoot you on the spot.”

“Lieutenant…”

“Shut it! I don’t give a damn about the title or a chain of command, I’m not Ben. He was the one to worship the ground you walked upon and defend your god damn honor. Proves now, there was nothing to defend after all. So, what was it he disappointed you in, huh? Two days ago, you hover over him like a mother hen and now you send him to his death! Where the accusation a bit truer than he liked? Did he turn you down or…”

Washington wasn’t sure from where he took the strength, but upon hearing these accusations, sorrow made way to one last ounce of his usual strength. Not for his sake, he deserved nothing than accusations, no matter if they were false, but for the boy’s sake. He would not have Ben’s name mentioned in this way, never! “Quiet!”

It was hard to tell who of them was more surprised of Caleb’s silence that followed, but Washington sure used it. “Give me that letter.”

First, the General would have thought the Lieutenant to disobey but then he practically threw the thing before Washington’s feet. “I hope you are happy now.”

Washington slowly crouched down to pick it up and unfold it, dreading the content.

 

My dear friend,

I write to you, knowing it will be the last thing you will ever hear of me. My new orders will have me venture far into enemy territory on a mission I cannot and will not name. Do promise by the grave of your uncle that you will not follow me, for it would only bring me sorrow to have you bearing the same fate and punishment.  
The General has given me this command as a last way of proving myself worthy of the trust he has put in me and that I have let down more often than I can count. I promise to fulfill as good and as far as I can, to restore both my honor and my name in death that I have shamed in life.  
If the end of this war sees you still in good health, I can only beg that you will do me one last service as a friend: Go to my father’s grave and pray there for me, for I will not be able to fulfill this duty myself anymore.  
Follow his Excellency’s commands and those of his new Head of Intelligence, no matter if you like him or not, for Colonel Hamilton has earned our respect and gratitude for his services, as has the Commander in Chief, who even took Thomas in. A kindness I will never forget, nor should you. So, if Anna asks, assure her of the boy’s safety and comfort and my never-ending friendship for the both of us.  
I hope that you will remember me as the man I always strived to be.

Your friend and loyal brother,  
Benjamin Tallmadge

 

Washington was sure his heart would stop. He had thought Ben had ridden out with his troops to accomplish that task, but the boy had gone alone- with every intention to die in the progress. He really deserved every insult Ben’s friend could throw at him. He deserved more, much more.

Caleb snatched the letter from his fingers and pressed it against his chest as if it was the boy himself and not just some piece of paper. He glared at Washington. “Satisfied?”  
The devil really had possessed him, for there was no other explanation for this. His most loyal officer rode into enemy territory right now to get himself killed- and found only praise for both him and the man that he thought would replace him in his post, after already doing so in his General’s heart.

He would step down, Washington swore to himself. He would step down to save his men from another attack of his madness. He was unfit to lead, to be in command. He probably was even unfit to be surrounded by people at all for there was no telling when he would lash out again. His last attack had nearly seen Culper hanged and now Benjamin… He would step down, but first he would bring the boy home. Benjamin would not die, not if he could help it.

“Lieutenant. I can only give you my word now, that I will…”

“Your word?” The soldier laughed coldly. “As you gave Benny your word? You also gave him your trust, didn’t you? And your friendship! So, no offence, but your word is worth less then horse shit, sir.”

Washington battled down his temper that tried to rise again, because the man was right, more than right. “I don’t ask for you forgiveness or your trust, Lieutenant, I only ask, that you stop Major Tallmadge and bring him back safe. Whatever he thinks will await him here, it will not come to pass.”

“And what security can you give me for this? Your word?”

Washington closed his eyes, searching for a solution, a way out. When he finally looked up again, he felt a good decade older. “I would never know if you both died or simply crossed into neural territory. I will never ask, never search for an answer. You don’t trust my word on that either, I am sure of it, but you are good in hiding and I can’t spare soldiers to search the whole countryside. I only ask, that you ride out to save him, please. If not for me, do it for him.”

The lieutenant literally stormed out of the room past Hamilton, who had just been about to enter. The young man raised an eyebrow quizzically, following Brewster with his eyes before he stepped into the room. “So, you found him.”

Washington looked up at his aide. Yet another bright young man. Yet another victim?

“Alexander, do me a favor. Tell the man I am not well and see to the affairs of the day for me, will you?”

“If this is about Tallmadge…”

“Major Tallmadge!”, Washington snapped only to freeze a heartbeat later. “Forgive me,” he murmured softly.

His aide hardly blinked at the harsh tone, that would have Benjamin duck his head like a child, afraid of an abusive farther. Is he that to the boy? A cruel man that lashes out at any time? Why then all this desperation to win his trust?

“He is a talented soldier and the mission is hardly as dangerous as the one he intended for himself." Hamilton tried to sooth him, but Washington could only shake his head, too tired for anything else.

Just let him be safe, he prayed. He would happily lose the boy to a quiet life, somewhere far away from the war and never see him again if it only meant that Brewster would reach him in time to stop that madness. His madness.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The confrontation, some laughing and a lot of angst!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, fair warning in the beginning: The ending is a bit nasty, so you might want to skip it, if you don't like violence or fighting

Ben got off his horse, ducking behind a tree and examined the glowing city in the dark.

Right now he was happy that the General never cared to raise him higher than Major, for otherwise his name or face might have meant something to the men in the taverns he had been in asking for directions. But as a Major, nobody had ever taken note of him.

Most of the time Ben had pretended to be a backwater boy, amplifying his accent to make it convincing enough. A boy, who was ready to join the redcoats and more than eager for a fight of any kind, a story he could easily sell and that often saw him in the company of an officer or soldier, happy to talk to him.

Loyalism opened quite a few doors after all, even a false one and most nights, the act had been easy for Ben. A tavern, a meal, some conversation he later had dutifully written down, fully aware that he had to get the intelligence to the General.

Delivering the intelligence however had been a bigger issue than overhearing it, even though he had had to clench his hands into fists under the table as they had dragged the noble name of the General through the mire. It had reminded him of Bradford, of Lee, but he had held his tongue this time, for he couldn’t fail his Commander before even reaching the Rangers. 

He also heard plenty about the Rangers as well, which gave him a good idea of where they were right now, so finding them wouldn’t be the issue. But before he could perish in the line of duty, he had to figure out a way of delivering the intelligence to the General, a greater problem than he had thought at the beginning. In the end, he had seen no other way than to fall back onto the only remaining agent of the Culper Ring outside the city, because without a pass entering New York was out of the question. It seemed as if Anna would need to do him one last favor.

He had of course avoided going to Setauket himself, his face and loyalties far too known there, but he had had a new slave of DeJong he met on the road back from the city, deliver the papers to Anna. A love letter he had claimed and no slave was able to read and prove him wrong, but he had the messages encrypted anyways. The letters had been signed as John Bolton, so Anna would get the meaning, even if she didn’t know about the new encryption system he had developed and hand the letters over to Caleb. It might take a bit longer than normal, but in the end they would reach the General and Hamilton would have them deciphered in no time for him.

 

As the slave had run off towards the town he had grown up in, Ben had felt a longing, a heartache for the easy times before the war. His father’s services, his brother’s tricks, Abe’s games. When he would join them soon, would they talk to him? Forgive him? For quite some time all he could do was to hold onto the horse and pray, as the animal had carried him closer to New York, while he mourned his friends and family. Now, gazing at the lights of the city, he prayed once more. He asked for forgiveness, for a successful mission, for a quick death.

Blessedly for Ben, the Rangers had been more than careless, so far away from any border. They might have the ability to walk without sound, to hide in the shadow and be a quick death you would never see coming, but two things had them forget all their abilities rather quickly: Wine and women.

It didn’t take long for Ben to question the keeper of a little inn outside the city about their whereabouts, claiming he had heard many great stories about them and wanted to meet their leader. The man raised an eyebrow at his words but directed him to a brothel, not far away from the inn. Ben thanked him and rode off. Only now, as he stood outside the building, he wondered how he could drag his captive back to camp- through enemy territory. Hamilton had been right after all, just like always: The plan was a stupid one. The General did well to listen to Hamilton and keep him close, while dismissing Ben.

Ben led his horse into the stables and begged the Lord to show him the mercy of a drunken Ranger in there, so he wouldn’t need to enter the brothel but of course his prayers were ignored once more. After all, it would have been too easy, wouldn’t it?

Ben sighed and ran a hand over his hair. How to do it the best way? A backdoor maybe? He could simply force a Ranger out there he figured, preferably one that was in a room alone, so he couldn’t call out for help that easily. If he gagged the man quickly or had him frightened enough to hold his tongue, he could make it. With this plan it could even work, Ben thought hopefully, that is if he can get to the Rangers and have one of them already separated from the others.

Ben made sure to check to see if there was a backdoor and at least in this aspect he was granted a bit of luck. He licked his lips nervously, as he rounded the brothel yet again and began to walk towards the entrance. 

“Well, pretty, where have you been all my life?” Hands encircle him as soon as he stepped over the doorstep, pulling him further in and into the arms of a rather improperly dressed young lady that snuggled herself into him without any prudence, her blond curls tickling his face and for a moment blocking all his vision. 

Ben fought a blush, but lost the battle tremendously as her hands moved from his back to his ass. God, that was not what he had in mind for his last night on earth. Mortified, he tried to correct her, but felt himself stammer as she gave his backside a light squeeze. “Excuse me, Miss…”

The girl giggled at his words or better lack of them, coming even closer. “Miss? Oh, I think I will enjoy you a lot. What are you, a poet or innocent?”

Ben blushed even more at her words, probably answering her question rather clearly. “Looking for somebody.”

She grabbed his hand and led him through the public room that offered far more than any bar Ben had ever been to, but thankfully, she led him away from the drunken men and the girls that tended to them. Soon, he found himself in a long corridor with far too water-fin doors and walls for his taste. “I think we should have this conversation in privacy, don’t you think, my innocent knight? By the way, you can call me Miss Philomena.” The name had her giggling again and her eyes were already undressing Ben as she tasted the nickname she had given once more. “My innocent knight.”

The young Major seriously considered bolting right here and now, the mission be damned, just to get away from these eyes. He should have intercepted the Rangers on the road! Ben cleared his throat, “Miss Philomena, I must tell you, there has been some misunderstanding…”

“Hush," she whispered and pulled him close to a kiss and Ben was momentarily lost, surprised by the sweetness of the kiss. He had expected something else, less lovely, less romantic, not that he liked it of course!

“You see," another kiss, “I can do innocent. I may be paid for a quick fun between the sheets, but I like sweet just like every other girl- and you are sweet.” Her hands came up to loosen his braid, combing through his hair, massaging the skin. “Very sweet.”

Ben took a step away, embarrassment and guilt shown clearly on his face, while he frantically searched for a way out of this mess- and this establishment. “Please, Miss, I mean no disrespect to you, but I’m only here because I’m looking for the Rangers. I’ve been given a letter for their leader and I want to deliver it, so I can be on my way.”

Philomena pursed her lips. “The Captain is engaged in rather important business right now, but I can sure sweeten the latency, my dear.”

Ben caught her hand before she could venture any lower than his navel. “The offer is kind, my lady, but a simple soldier will do. I have more than enough confidence in the Captain’s men to hand him the letter as soon as he finished his business.”

She came nearer once more, fingers brushing over his cheek, his lips. “And you are certain, my innocent knight?”

Ben nodded. God, he just wanted to grab a Ranger and flee this building. If Caleb could see him right now… “Please, my lady.”

Philomena’s hands came up once more, brushing a strand of hair from his face, a sweet smile on her face. “My innocent knight.”

Ben takes a step back and suddenly found his back pressed against a door. Before he could say something, before he could turn around, the doors yielded and he was caught off guard for a second. A momentary stumble, only a heartbeat before he finds his footing again, but he knew it was too long, when he felt something cold being pressed against his back. “Major Tallmadge, so good of you to join us.”

The high voice had the blood in Ben’s veins turn into ice for there was only one man, who could speak cruelty with this air of civility: Simcoe. He looked up at Philomena and didn’t need to see the look on her face to know she played him a fool and the guilt in her eyes was not easing away his rising temper. 

While Ben frantically searched for a way out, Simcoe continued in a more than mocking tone. “No reply? I’m offended, Major. Last time we met, you displayed such a high level of mannerism that I had hoped to be able to return the favor, but it seems, you would rather have me revert to the methods of your friend. By the way, Tallmadge, greetings from your father. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Ben forsaked his plan to reach for the pistol he had hidden in his boot and went for the knife instead, anger flaring up inside him, anger that needs satisfaction. With a quick movement, he threw himself to the sight, away from the gun. The bullet still caught him, but only somewhere in his side instead in the spine or lung. Just a flesh wound, he thought, nothing he couldn’t handle. He spun around to face Simcoe, who had thrown away his shot for now and was momentarily on a disadvantage without a weapon to defend himself. 

Ben lashed out with the knife at the man and heard an angry growl, as he plunged the blade in his shoulder. Simcoe retreated, blood oozing down his front. Seemes as if he had hit a major vessel, Ben thought. The Major rose his hand to deliver another blow as a fist collided with his head and sent him stumbling to his knees. It was pure instinct that has him roll over and jab out like he would with his saber. A piercing scream and a loud knock told him he had hit the man, so no danger from there anymore.

Simcoe, his mind reminded him and Ben tried to get up, to finish the Captain off or drag him to the horse, but he fell back on his knees again, as a fist made contact with the gun wound, a moarn on his lips. A kick to his hand has the knife slide from his fingers, hot pain shooting up his arm. He wavered and the next kick has him losing his balance completely. A small whimper made it past his lips, as the next one has blood run down his face from a split lip or broken nose. He couldn't tell, it just hurt. 

He blinked wearily. More running, shouting. He fought against the darkness that threatened to overtake him… Then Simcoe’s voice, “I didn’t believe André when he said that Washington would sent you, Tallmadge, but it seems as if we made just the catch today, haven’t we? Washington’s Head of Intelligence. The things you will tell us…”  
Ben forced his eyes open again at these words. They knew! They knew about is post! But he had brought more than one knife, he could still set this right. It was difficult to reach, tucked away in his coat but somehow, he managed. A quick slash, more wouldn’t be needed. A sin, alas, he knew it, but for the cause, for the General.

The blade dug into his flesh with ease, too sharp to cause much pain- or were his sense already dulling? As darkness claimed him, he could hear a voice barking the order to stop him, to remove the blade from his hands. Please let it be over soon! God, he was afraid and he had never wanted to die alone.

While he lay there, weakly struggeling for each breath, he could only hope that he would die before they would be able to stop the bleeding. He could not be captured, not with them knowing who he was, what he was. He couldn't fail the General again. 

As a soothing numbness that came with the heavy blood loss, washed over him, but his mind was still working, wondering how they could know about his post. He had to write to the General and tell him. They had a traitor... A traitor in their… The General… He had to protect… Washington.

A tear ran down Ben’s cheek.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben in New York...

Caleb had devastated his horse with the pace he had sped up to but the animal was no concern of his, not with Ben’s life in danger.

The ride had been a blur, his sole focus on the road and the tracks. He cursed the cold for the ground was frozen, giving only now and then away if he was on the right road. It was far too easy to lose Ben’s spoors and Caleb couldn’t make a mistake or his friend could be dead.

Unfortunately, he also couldn’t take too much time or the outcome would be the same. The whaler cursed Washington once again. The man had sent Ben to his death, only to reconsider when there was nearly nothing to be done about it anymore. Not that Caleb wouldn't ride out for his friend, no matter the odds, but old Georgie was something else. He should have shot him, damn the revolution and the war. No one harmed his friends and lived to tell the tale.

In the end, Caleb tracked Benny down to an inn somewhere outside New York, but here he lost him. The current keeper couldn’t remember anyone who matched Ben’s description. That wasn’t good, not good at all.

Caleb wondered if he should ride out and search haphazardly. The road was pretty empty after all, so anybody who would still be outside would attract attention. Unfortunately, that also applied for him and with New York so close, the British had more check points than he could circumvent. 

Caleb took a room in the inn and set down on the bed, unable to sleep, no matter how hard he tried. What if Ben was captured right now? What if he died? Shit, Benny boy, what did you get yourself into when you accepted that post? He thought again and again. They should have never written that letter to Washington, they should have never tried to help. No victory at Trenton, yes, but Benny wouldn’t be on a suicide mission now. Better Washington than Tallboy!

Only the next morning when the actual keeper took over from his son again did Caleb hear from the man that some boy with blond hair and an eager story had asked him for the whereabouts of the Queen’s Ranger. Caleb felt dread filling his stomach. He had only two questions, already halfway out of the stable: A precise description of the boy and what time he had asked. Hoping against hope, he waited for the man to tell him it hadn’t been Ben, but the picture the old inn keeper drew was more than clear. Blonde, blue-eyed, well-mannered and pretty- and actually not the kind to be interested in local militia troops and especially not the Rangers considering their reputation.

The words of the old man had Caleb seeing red. He felt like losing his uncle all over again. Not Bennyboy, damn it, not his best friend! Why? His fist came down, hitting his own leg, but the pain didn’t numb the other one in his chest, the one he felt in his very soul. 

He rode like smoke to the brothel the man had told him about. Please, let Ben plan an ambush on the road, let him be alive, he thought. The first time in his life, Caleb was thankful for the decency and the good manners Ben had always hidden behind when Caleb had tried to drag him into such an establishment for a bit of fun. The boy was a saint when it came to sins and desires, no way he would have gone into that thing, not if there were other ways. He is fine, Caleb told himself over and over again, but he rode his horse like the devil nevertheless.

When he reached the brothel, he practically rode into it with his horse. A woman looked up from a table where she sat over a meager breakfast and made a face at him. “You are an eager one!”

“I’m looking for a friend of mine. Blond, blue-eyed, handsome- you've seen him?”

She shrugged and took another bite of her porridge. “Maybe, what is in it for me?”

Caleb wordlessly throws her a couple of coins he had gotten from Hamilton before his departure. British money, so he wouldn’t give himself away.

Now she looks interested. “Maybe, but the little ones here do seem a bit lonely, don’t you think?”

Greedy bitch, but Caleb couldn’t care less about money right now. He threw her some more, enough to make sure she wouldn’t call down the Rangers if they were still here. “Your friend, a little innocent one, too pretty to be here and with manners like some nobleman?”

“Yeah.” Please be safe, Benny. 

Her finger stroked the coins lovingly. “He was here, last night. Was looking for somebody as well. Philomena, the oh so great actress with her all too rich and handsome officer friends, had him in her claws in no time and led the little innocent bird right into a trap from what I heard. Got his little, pretty wings broken. Nasty sight.”

Caleb wavered. “Where did they take him?”

The woman shrugged. “The hell I know. New York if you ask me, but it is only a guess.”

Caleb threw her a handful of more coins to keep her shut up as he stumbled out of the brothel. They had Ben, he could only think, the redcoats had Ben. He was too late! The scream of frustration that tore itself from his throat wasn’t human anymore. 

He looked to the horizon where he could see New York in the distance, smoke curling up from hundreds of chimneys. Somewhere there was Ben and that meant he had to get into the city somehow. But how? He had no pass and no story to sell. The last time he had used Sackett's ship and dressed up as a redcoat. But the ship was destroyed… How could he get in there and save his friend? 

Would there still be something left to safe? The words of the tavern wench were still clear in his mind. 

...led the little innocent bird right into a trap from what I heard. Got his little, pretty wings broken. Nasty sight!

Caleb's fist came down upon the stable, brusing his knuckles, but he doesn't feel the pain. What are some brused bones against the things Ben would have to endure? Was it possible that they knew about his post? He only begged that it wouldn’t be Simcoe who would question Ben or he feared for more than his friends life. Washington better watched his back after that or the fine General would wake up one day to find an ax in it.

°°°  
Pain…. Voices… His name… somebody was saying his name… He tried to listen, but it was too muffled… Light… Too bright… 

Ben groaned and tried to hide from the noise, the light, but he simply couldn’t move. Panic rose in him. He fought, fought against something he couldn’t name, couldn’t place. Help me, god, help me, he thought as he fought.

A hand... somebody was stroking his hand... Calm down... Breath...

Ben tried to obey this one. He panted for breath... When did breathing become so hard? He was so cold... Delaware... Did he fell into the Delaware again?... Caleb?

Someone called for a doctor…

Ben called out for his friends and family…

Go Lieutenant…

Caleb? But it couldn’t be! His mind felt sore and everything slightly out of his reach. Only slowly did his memory return, pieces, pictures, a collage that didn’t make any sense.  
His ride to New York, the accusation… Why was he accused by Washington? He would die for this man! He would give everything for him, his approval. But the picture of the general only fades away, not hearing his words, not answering. Ben suddenly wasn’t even sure if he had said them aloud or just in his head.

More snippets… Washington’s mission for him, the brothel, Simcoe. He opened his eyes wide, gasping as the blurred vision in front of him confirms his fears: Red, he is starring at a sea of red. That could only mean one thing… His stomach surrendered fully and heaves battered his form. 

“Calm down." A soft voice demanded and somebody rolled him over. After his stomach was finished emptying the last of it's content, someone appeared in his line of sight. Ben could make out a young face and a white braid, dangling from the man’s head full of brown hair- and a blood red coat. He felt like he would be sick again. No! 

“Major, calm down!”

It wasn’t his free will but the lack of energy that had Ben following the command. He blinked warily, suddenly too tired to hold his eyes open, but his hearing at least is back to normal. Lay here and listen he can do, he thought, fighting back the darkness, that threatened to swallow him once again.

“I wasn’t aware that we should cuddle him, Major. Surely you realize that he is but a rebel that should swing as the spy he is- after we are done with him and because I know how much you detest bloodshed, I offer my service once more to you, Major André.” The charming voice has ice water running down Ben’s back. Simcoe. They should have shot him when they had the chance.

“You know very well I will decline on that offer, especially before Colonel Cook has had a chance to give his opinion on the matter. I do not wish for him to only able to choose between burial ways and furthermore, Captain, as long as I am the highest ranking military officer in this room, we will not mistreat our captive. Or will you have a rebel General outmatch you when it comes to humanity? Washington has more than once demanded that we treat his men with civility and I see no harm in doing so.” 

The man had honor, Ben thought and he felt sadness settle into him. Because of the King, such a good man was his enemy. But that man was also what kept him alive right now, only that he wished for death like never before and Simcoe’s interrogation wouldn’t be something he could survive for long, of that he was sure. He felt so weak and lightheaded that it wouldn’t surprise him if his next breath would shatter him. Please do so!

Simcoe’s voice got a new edge, cold steel behind the smoothness he always put on display. “They are rebels, sir, and Tallmadge will hang anyway.”

Ben feels something cold pressed against his forehead. He flinched away, his mind only realizing a heartbeat later that it hadn’t been a pistol, not even a blade- it had been a wet cloth. “And again, I can only wonder how such barbarism was ever allowed in His Majesty’s army. Are you even aware that he will die if we do not tend to his wounds? What good would he be to us then?" André composed himself after that outburst,, his voice again even and calm, "Please see to it, that the next man I send you to capture will be in better conditions. You are dismissed, Captain. And consider this your first and only warning: Tame your lust for blood or I will have it done for you.”

“As you wish, Major. Until soon, Tallmadge.” His voice held so much certainty and cruel anticipation, that Ben could only shudder.

A hand replaced the cloth and fingers gently stroke the damp strands of hair out of his face that has fallen in his eyes while he had been sick.

Ben coughed, wondering if he would simple choke on his own blood. It certainly wouldn’t be the worst outcome of this situation. “I won’t talk." he got out between shaky breaths, “no matter how nice you are. I will be loyal to my country… General.”

The hand stopped but lingered. “I see. Washington really did have an impact on you than Major, didn’t he? But then again, I shouldn’t be surprised for I was told you were like his shadow, his right hand man, the man, he keeps close. Tell me, Major, do you really worship him enough to die for him? A man who sent you on a suicide mission?”

That has Ben open his eyes. “The Commander in Chief…”

“Has sent you here alone. What chances had you given yourself? It was a mission you weren’t supposed to come back from, admit it, at least to yourself.” The redcoat, André, sadly smiled down at him and held a mug at Ben’s lips. “Come now, Major, enough of Washington. Drink some water.” When Ben didn’t comply right away, the redcoat sighed. “Drink, you lost a lot of blood. Washington can hardly fault you for a cup of water that doesn’t even come with a price, especially not if it might safe the life of his loyal sodier and confident.”

Ben took a sip, but the water felt like a betrayal, like something that would ultimately make him a turncoat. He coughed again and tried to defend it against any accusation, but he was tired, so tired- and he knew better than to give a bad excuse. Still, he locked eyes with André, daring the other man. “Don’t mock the General!” he mumbled. “… good man.”

A new coughs if battering his form and André's hands came up to steady him. “Hush. It is all right. And if he is such a good man that deserves your loyalty and love, he won’t fault you for the sip, will he?”

But the problem was that Ben wasn’t sure anymore what would have Washington faulting him and what would be forgiven. It used to be so easy… He tried to remember Washington’s smile, his thanks after saving his life, him offering Ben his friendship, but whenever Ben grasped for these happy moments, they were replaced by the cold fury in Washington’s eyes shortly before he sent Ben away. He couldn’t suppress the shudder that fury gave him. Why?

“Hush… Even if you won’t talk and we will only have the victory of hanging you as a captured spy, it would be a shame to have you a weak mess, wouldn’t it. A officer should be able to walk to his end with his head held high.”

Hanging… Like they did with Nate. He would hold his head just as high as he did. Would his friends know about his fate? Would they care? Would Washington care? To distract his mind from the last question, he asked quickly, “Where am I?”

“New York.” Anything else André might have added became unnecessary with the floor shifting and the walls creaking. The redcoats hand came up to steady Ben, but he didn’t even register it for all the sudden, Ben’s stupor was broken by cold fear. He knew where he was even without Major André’s confirmation, without anyone’s confirmation. He was at the place his brother had died and where his father had been meant to suffer the same fate. Now, he would follow Samuel to his grave through the same path. A family, a death! Ben knew where he was.

The Jersey.


	6. Chapter 6

André jumped to his feet with so much force that the little braid of his for a moment was nearly horizontal. “Sir, I advise against this unnecessary show of barbarism. The boy is hurt already, alone, scared and not on good terms with Washington. Shouldn’t we try to win his trust? I don’t see how cutting him open even more will give us anything more than a dead man and a bloody mess.”

Simcoe looked up from his glass of wine and plastered one of those false smiles on his lips. “You can’t intend to cuddle him, Major. He isn’t someone who needs to confess after all. We can hang him at any minute.”

“Colonel, that is madness!”

The Colonel got up, warily gulping down his wine. “Maybe, but we need him to talk, André. Washington is gaining ground and I don’t want to be outsmarted by a man without even a decent education, let alone military experience. Get me any information, no matter the cost, you hear me? You have my blessing for any form of interrogation!"

With that, he left the room, Simcoe on his heels. André gestured for Abigail to clean up the table and sighed, giving the door a long look.

“Are you alright, Sir?”

André looked up and smiled, but it was a tired one. The meeting had been long and the day even more so. “Nothing a letter couldn’t cure. Is there one by any chance?”

Of course, he wasn’t that lucky. Peggy… He pictured her smile, her soft skin and her jokes as he stepped back into the cold air outside to get a chance to talk with Tallmadge before Simcoe got to him.

×•×

Whatever purpose the room Ben was in usually had, it was a major improvement from the normal barracks on the Jersey- and by far the most rundown and filthy hole André had ever set foot in. Not just filthy, it was cold. The form in the bed was huddled almost into itself, seeking all the warmth there was and still shivering. André called one of the guards to bring him another blanket.

It was the warmth or better said the lessened cold that had Ben wake up. He blinked up into André’s face and tried to focus, tried to understand.

“Are you in pain?”

“I won’t talk.”

André chuckled at this, tucking the blanket under Ben’s chin as he would do with a little child. “That doesn’t mean you need to freeze to death.”

“Then I’ll starve or you simply hang me. What’s the difference?”

André gave up for now and beckoned the guard that brought him the blanket over again. “What did the doctor say?”

“Weak from blood loss but besides fine. Nothing major.”

Good, at least he wouldn’t die that quickly. André sat next to Ben again, trying to establish a connection, some trust that wouldn't be found behind a blade. This man wouldn’t talk because of pain, that was for sure. “I think a proper introduction is needed. I’m…”

“I know who you are. You let Gamble murder Mr. Sackett to steal information.” The young man spat the words out like poison.

Not the reaction he had hoped for! Getting a patriot to trust a loyalist, there were easier things in life. “I presume this man was a friend of yours. It was necessary but I’m still sorry for your loss- on a personal basis.”

Ben only huffed and turned around.

“Why do you have to make this difficult?”

Silence.

“Major?”

Silence.

“Benjamin?”

“Why do you have to keep talking?” He said but didn't turn around.

Abdré extended a hand and settled it lightly on Ben's shoulder. “You know what comes after this talk? Would it really be worth it?”

“I only regret that I have but one life to give for my country.”

He had heard those words before… But where? Nathan Hale! He studied Tallmadge a bit more intensely. No resemblance, that is, not enough for a brother, but maybe a friend? He would have to look into that.

A shiver destroyed Ben’s heroic moment and he only resembled a sick child now.

“Fine, then don’t betray your General but is there something else you could tell me about?”

Silence.

The boy really had a talent for brooding. Hale hadn’t been that heroic, not at all. What was it with Tallmadge, that he kept his silence and trust in Washington? Would time make him fall apart? Or maybe Washington himself?

“Tell me about Washington for I cannot understand how you can keep your faith in him even in such a situation.”

Ben wanted to protest at that, but André held up a hand to stop him. “Don’t betray him, just tell me about the man himself. You are one of the few who know him after all.”

Ben didn’t look up at him. “He is kind, wise and righteous.”

André took a chance. “I heard he can have a bit of a temper.”

There! Ben was probably not aware of it but he just gave himself away. The grip on the blankets tightened, his jaw set just a fraction more and a little tremble in his breathing. Anybody else would have missed it but André wasn’t anybody else, he was trained for this. Washington didn’t just have a temper, he had unleashed it on this man and recently if he could tell from the still fresh wound.

He gave Ben another gentle push into his misery. “But I’m sure a loyal and good soldier as yourself has never really been the target of this. The thing is most likely only defamation by some lesser individuals.”

A slight tremble.

They were getting there. What had Washington said? Why had he sent the Major on this mission?

“I will write to Washington. Maybe your capture can be a benefit after all, even without you talking.”

Silence. A death grip on the blacket. 

André had to stop himself from cheering. They hadn’t just had a fall out, Ben didn’t expect the General to agree on a prisoner exchange. Not that he was really planning on doing any of it, but the response was nearly worth a try just to see the response from Washington. This he could use, more than use. Every man could become a turncoat, why not Major Benjamin Tallmadge?

It was pure luck, what happened then. André wanted nothing more than to pride himself with the events but the truth was, it was the greatest coincidence possible. One of the other prisoners was being tortured, whipped from the sound of it, and no matter the walls, it was like standing right next to it.

Ben whirled around, hand grabbing for a saber that wasn’t there anymore and only André’s hands stopped him from jumping up.

“I advise against it. You are still too weak to stand.”

The Major didn’t hear him, he only seemed to hear the soldier’s cries. The panic and grief in his eyes stirred a memory in André of some business with Robert Rogers. The prisoner exchange… There had been a mention of a Samuel Tallmadge. Diseased on the Jersey or so Rogers had claimed. Could it be?

Benjamin Tallmadge was, that much he knew, a preacher’s son and probably had been raised pious and kind hearted. Simcoe might not have to cut him open. The Jersey and her cruelties might be enough.

“Stop this madness.”

André shook his head. “It is not in my power. Would you stop the torture of a British soldier?”

“We don’t torture them! The General…”

Washington again! The fox should stay in his den for once. “I can only help the man if you give me something. That I can put in a good word. You can’t hand out favors either, not even with your General, can you?”

Ben’s face was all the confirmation he needed. “Try to rest, Major. I will send someone with food over. There is no point in starving you.”

“And why am I fed? You like to starve the other soldiers after all. I have seen prisoner exchanges, I know your usual treatment. Stop this game, André, it won’t work.”

The man on deck started pleading and Tallmadge flinched at the sound.

“Most man here are fed by their family. You don’t have any.”

Ben glared daggers into André's eyes. “How generous!”

André started to have problems picturing this hot-tempered man as a prim soldier and Washington’s trustee- for multiple reasons. “Again, I advise you to rest. You lost a lot of blood and we both know; a bad attitude will get you nowhere.”

“Leave me alone or try me for spying. I have nothing else to say to you.”

“I will write to Washington.” And with that he left, assured that the words would gnaw at Ben the whole night and maybe even the next day. He would give him time and then present him with a false letter- or maybe he could convince the Colonel to write to Washington for real. The answer in his General’s hand might be so much more convincing.  
Before he left the ship, André made sure to tell the guards that the whippings and beatings should only take place when Tallmadge was awake. A coin had the man convinced as André went home assured that they were one step closer to breaking Tallmadge. Unfortunately, in all his optimism, he missed Simcoe, who ambled down the street, an even more self-assured smile on his face- and as soon as André was out of sight, he headed right for the Jersey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always: Kudos and reviews make my day and spur me into writing quickly.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to camp...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, I'm pretty busy with studying right now, but I hope the chapter was worth the wait.

Anna sat by the tree like every night since he had died, thinking about Abe, thinking about Thomas. She had signaled Brewster three days ago but he hasn’t come yet. What if he never will? Did he also die? Did they abandon her here? She knew her thoughts were ridiculous but she couldn't help it. Not her line of thoughts, nor her sadness.

She buried her head in her arms and tried to remember happier days when she and Abe had still been engaged, when Ben hadn’t unlearnt to smile and Caleb’s jokes were still enough to brighten every day. It had seemed like nothing could destroy that happiness, but now? She looked down at the letter in her lap again. She had placed it in the trunk days ago, but with Caleb not coming, she had picked it up again and has read it, over and over again. She knows Ben’s elegant handwriting, but the words weren’t his, not even the signature was. John Bolton. 721. That was all he seemed to be now. It is the only thing she had heard from him since Abe’s death. Anna tried to be angry, but she couldn’t. Every time she feels that fury, she asked herself, why Ben has asked a slave in enemy territory to deliver a letter to her. What new danger for the cause?

“Excuse me, but could you direct me to Setauket, Miss? I’m looking for a friend of mine there, a Mr. Culper.”

Anna’s head flew up and she struggled to her feet. Why didn’t she bring a gun or at least a knife? “Who are you?”

The stranger stands perfectly still, hidden in the shadow so she couldn’t recognize his face, even if she knew him. “I’m a friend of Mr. Bolton and here to talk for him with Mr. Culper.”

“How do you know these names?” Anna, you just gave yourself away.

He caught her arm as she sprinted away and held her in an iron grip, no matter her struggles. “We have a common friend, several to be correct and I think you know the name 711.”

“And that shall make me trust you? A stranger, knowing names and numbers? You could be anyone!”

A deep sigh escaped him. “I could and I can assure you, I don’t like this business so keep your voice down. If I die, I want to do it leading my men into battle and not hanging as a spy, but Caleb Brewster is away and our friend wanted to make sure how you are after… certain events.”

Anna looked up into the unknown face and all her fears from earlier came rushing back to her. “Why hasn’t he sent Ben?”

The man paused for a moment and fear sparked in her chest. “He is indisposed.”

Anna beat at his chest with all the force she could master. “Indisposed? Why is he in enemy territory and why does he send me messages for 711?”

The eyes of the man became suddenly much friendlier. “You have a message from him?”

“I want to know what’s going on and who you are! So…”

“My name is Alexander Hamilton and I’m an aide of 711. Does this satisfy you?”

Why would Washington sent his aide to check on her? What the hell was going on? “Is Ben safe?”

The man swallowed and for the first time, he looks really human to her, not just like some arrogant officer. “We are doing whatever is in our power to ensure this.”

She handed him the letter. “It’s garbage. A love letter and not even a good one.”

He took it with a little bow and she could have sworn he muttered something like `typical Benjamin´. His eyes flew over the page. “A code?”

“None I know of.” Sadly! She wished she could understand his words for she couldn’t shake the feeling that they were significant- if not his last.

“Still, thank you. You have done us a great…”

“Spare me the platitudes! Just make sure he is safe.”

 

Washington all but ran to him upon hearing about the young man's enter. He didn’t even waste a second on thinking how his actions might look. “You have news, Alexander?”

His aide made a face and took off his cloak, scrunching his nose at the civilian clothing. “She is fine, your agent I mean. A tomboy with claws, but fine. No need to worry, sir.”

He nodded and tried to concentrate on the task at hand. Boston! They needed to defend the city- without the input of the Rangers. After Ben, it would be impossible to catch them off guard. No matter the reports of their agents and the meetings with his staff, he couldn’t come up with a strategy that would work. Something was missing, a point of view, an opinion, something. He rubbed a hand over his tired eyes, burning from all the reading, but everything was better than sleeping.

He had tried to rest only once, Martha coaxing him to sleep, to at least lie next to her and Thomas. He had been tired, drained of his energy, his vitality and his belief in himself, in the cause. It had been so tempting and he had given in, letting the soft breaths of the child lulling him to sleep. It had been a mistake.

Benjamin had haunted his dreams and whatever Washington did or said, the boy always ended on a gallon, proudly stating the words he had laid into the mouth of Ben’s dead friend. He was never in time to stop this madness, could never save his boy. Washington had woken up with a scream as he had to watch himself killing the young Major without any remorse. You are not my son. These had been his last words before he had ordered Ben to choke on his last breath.

His cheeks had been damp with tears, but they had been no match to streams that had run down Benjamin’s cheeks while he had ordered his death. He had been a fool, blinded by sickness and anger that hadn’t even been caused by Benjamin but by Benedict. He had rejected the one chance of a son he had.

From that night on he couldn’t find sleep anymore and most certainly not with Thomas next to him. It wasn’t fair to the child, but he wasn’t his son, no matter the adoption papers, no matter Martha calling him this. To be honest, Washington simply longed to watch the peaceful slumber of another boy, his boy.

“I have a letter for you.” Alexander’s voice was unusually soft and he hesitated before handing it to him.

One look at it had him knowing why. Ben! He practically ripped it from Alexander’s hands.

“It is encrypted. Here is the…”

Another ripping. He scanned through it, begging for a miracle. He couldn’t even bring himself to care for Alexander’s opinion on his behavior.

But his aide’s voice was even and calm as he spoke up again. “It doesn’t state anything than intelligence, sir.”

Still, he had to see for himself! The letter was from a perfect soldier, a great spy, but he could hardly grasp the information in it. He only remembered one line, no matter how often he read it: I beg that you will find it in you to forgive me.

“Sir?” Alexander’s voice was muffled as if he had cotton in his ears.

“Any word from Brewster?”

“No, sir.” A hand landed on his arm and he looked to see worry cloud his aide’s face. “You should rest.”

Washington clenched the letter in his hand tighter. Would it be the last proof Ben was alive? “I will rest when the war is won, Alexander.”

The young man knew better than to argue. Silently, he slipped out of the tent, probably to help with the packing up while Washington rearranged the enemy movements after Ben’s letter.

He had to win this war for what had he left beside it? His one wish had always been a son to look at and be proud of and all the young men around him where nothing but a substitute for it. With none to call his own, he tutored them and prided himself with their achievements. But Ben… Ben had become more and he couldn't even explain to himself why. Because of his trust in Washington, the loyalty, the hope of a scarce praise?

Washington rubbed his face and prayed that his boy was save, that he was alive.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is a bit violent, so fair warning now...

Hiss. Clash. Scream.

Hiss. Clash. Scream.

Hiss. Clash. Scream.

Ben needed a moment to understand that it was him who screamed. A blissful moment, then came the pain.

Simcoe eyes him with that clinical interest bare of any compassion that he has always worn and it made Ben sick, it made him tremble. God, please let me be strong for my country, for my friends, for my General. Please. 

“You know, Major, I’ve seen ensigns taking the blows with more dignity. What are you? A girl?”

Hiss. Clash. Ben groaned.

“What was that, Major? Does your General not teach you to talk in a civilized way? Not that I am too surprised by a man of his education. Wild and barbaric like some savages that need to be tamed. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Ben forced his eyes up, no matter how much his vision swam and spat at the man, hoping he hit. “He is a finer man than you can ever dream to be! My horse has more humanity than you.”

There was no hissing this time and dread coiled in Ben’s stomach. He couldn’t make out what was happening but he knew the longer Simcoe took, the worse it would be. Still, he would say it again. Washington was a fine General and a good man. He was… I will have the interrogator question you on your loyalties!

Now the tears came. They burned his skin but he couldn’t hold them back. Washington’s words, his order… Still, he would not betray his General, never! He wasn’t worthy of the man’s affection and trust, but he would not prove him right, he would…

A scream tore itself from his throat as Simcoe’s face suddenly filled his vision. It was a smiling picture of the devil himself, but it wasn’t Simcoe’s face that had him screaming, it was the searing pain, that bite into his cheek. And it got worse, deeper and longer. New tears rolled over his cheeks and this time, burning his cheeks the whole way. 

“Let’s take away those good looks your General is so fond of. Think he will still like you?”

This threat couldn’t bother Ben, no matter how much his face felt like Simcoe was skinning him alive. It was a threat that couldn’t harm him. He could never lose Washington’s affection, for the man never had liked him. He whimpered.

Simcoe dug his fingers into the wound and savored the scream that action was rewarded with. “Now, again. Culper, who is it?”

God, he wished he had the strength left to throw some good answer into Simcoe’s face. Not for the history books, they would be filled with the real heroes, with Washington and Hamilton, Lafayette and Arnold, but for the bit of pride he had left and for the soldiers around him, that watched his torture. It might lift their spirit, it might…

Cold water robbed him of sweet unconsciousness and he struggled for a breath. He huddled into himself, desperate to find some warmth but there was never even any to begin with. Tremors ran through him and he could only dream of a warm blanket right now. It felt like the Delaware all over again- but this time he was alone, this time there was no Caleb or a fire. He felt like freezing, he felt like dying.

“With me again? Good! Now, Major, as we both are well aware, you aren’t going to live through this, but I could grand you a quick death- or I could prolong this suffering.” Simcoe smiled at him like a teacher, like he used to when he taught a child something. The realization has Ben choking. 

A pat on his battered back brings him back to reality. “Did you know that some tribes say it is possible to break every bone in a man’s body without killing him? I never believed it, but I have also never stopped trying. My record is twelve. Do you think you can get past it?" A searing pain in his side. Rips, his mind registered after a painful attempt to breath. 

Another attempt to breath. Several.

“Where is the old man?”

Ben shook his head and curled into himself, as a new kick connected with his battered body. A finger this time. He cradled his hand close to his chest, but that doesn’t save him.  
“He doesn’t care anyway if you live or die. Why do you keep fighting? There is no one saving you or did you really think André would write to Washington? Do you really think we would trade something like you away? You are a goldmine. Codes, spies, information and all for us.”

No, he didn’t believe the Tory Major and even if he did, would it matter? He knew his fate and it would be the same on both sides. Here, he would at least die a soldier true to his cause. He will die like Nate.

“So, tell me, Major. Where will that army be?”

A collarbone. Ben couldn’t even scream anymore, only whimper.

“Why keep fighting, Major? Why prolong the inevitable.”

“Loyalty.” His voice wavered, but his glance didn’t.

A kick to his stomach has him vomiting bile on his shirt but he can’t move, can’t whip it away, for there is another kick that has him curling into himself even more. And another and another and another.

“Talk to me, Major.”

Loyalty.

“Talk to me.”

Washington.

“Talk!”

He cannot!

A kick into his mouth has him nearly choking on his own blood.

Talk! Talk! Talk!

He must not!

As the knife dug into his skin again, he let out a strangled sob.

The knife stopped and he could feel Simcoe’s breath on his cheek. “Yes?”

“He’ll send the army in smaller junctions to Boston to defend it and unite forces with the French in the woods.”

“Where?”

Ben coughed up more blood. What a pathetic picture he must be. How pathetic he is. “Tory row. His old headquarters.”

Simcoe leaned down to him and Ben would flinch away, if he still had the strength to move. The monster’s hands came down on his cheek, the cut one, and he cupped it, giving it a light pad, that has Ben sobbing. “See? Was it so difficult in the end?”

Ben only closed his eyes and tried to remember his childhood in Setauket. Laughter with his friends, the long nights with Nate, the praise from Washington. He tried to hold onto this as he slipped into the darkness, but when has life ever been easy? The pictures shatter before his inner eye and they are replaced by Washington cornering him, digging his fingers into his shoulder.

Do you also betray me?

You are not my son.

Hang him. Hang him as a traitor!

A cried as darkness claimed him


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, I promised the chapter way earlier but med school finals got in the way... But now, here you are. I hope it is worth the wait

He woke up from some shattering and a scream. Is someone hurt? Training and instinct slammed into him and he tried to get up, to help, but a strangled moan is all he could manage. Moving is out of the question. 

His vision was blurry and when he tried to at least scan the room, he couldn’t really tell who else was there. A servant maybe? Where was he anyways? And why was he in a room, in a bed? Why isn’t he in his tent?

A cough wracked his body and his ribs feel like they just broke all over again and still, after all the pain and coughing, breathing was difficult, so difficult. Ben swallowed the mucus he expectorated and tried to ignore that now familiar rough feeling in his throat, tried so hard, but he couldn’t. Another coughing fit. His hand blindly reached next to him, unsure for what. Support, help, a friend? He just knew that he was sick and he was never alone when he was sick. Not since his mother died of pneumonia when he was four. His friends had made sure of that. “Caleb?”

“Shh, Major, calm down.”

There were hands again, soft hands, the hands of a woman and he blurted out the only name he can think of, the only woman who would care. “Annie?”

Only then did he realize what he did. Stupid! A patriot Major calling for a married woman in a loyalist village. Worse, a village that just killed two of his people. 

He can only hope that no one will ever make the connection. Not again. Not more deaths on his conscience.

“Mr. Benjamin, you must lay still.”

Mr. Benjamin? He hadn’t been called this since he was a child, since he left Setauket. A simple preacher boy is now Mr. to anyone but a slave. Even Billy only had addressed him with his rank. His rank… He couldn’t stop a sniffle.

“Are you in pain, sir?”

He managed a little shake of his head. He committed enough sins never to be able to go to Heaven anyways, what is one more lie? For he began to remember and he remembered Simcoe like a picture branded into his brain, the man lauging while he screamed, while he whimpered. He wouldn’t give the lobsters that satisfaction again.

The punishment was another coughing attack. Could one actually cough up a lung? If so, he was pretty near doing so. He pushed the thought aside. What was more important, was from where she knew his name? Could this be an asset? God, please let this be an asset. “I’m sorry, I frightened you, Madame.”

“Aye, you always were the nicest of those kids, Mr. Benjamin.”

Now he looked up. Those kids? Hope was suddenly reviving his heart again, his will to live. It couldn’t be, could it? Who else would know who he is, who else would know him as a child, who else was in New York?

“Abigail.” It sounded more like a prayer than a name.

She smiled down at him and pat his hand. “I’ll fetch a doctor, Mr. Benjamin.”

Abigail, 355… “No!” Another round of coughing takes away the authority of his words, of him.

Worry creeps over her face. “You need a doctor!”

A soft shake of his head. “I need you to listen. I need you to send Anna a message.”

“Mr. Benjamin, I don’t know…”

“Please!”

She sighs and rubs over her mouth, clearly searching for the right words. “A patriot Major can’t send letters to a friend, not even an old one. That…”

Ben tried to push himself up but failed miserably. His groan at least has her stop talking. “Not from me, a message from Mr. Bolton.”

He wasn’t sure if he was simply delusional or if he really saw the recognition in her eyes. Please let she have gotten the hint. Now he understood the General’s concern with this arrangement: She didn’t know him! He couldn’t warn her, couldn’t direct her and she would probably not listen. She reported to Anna, not to him. He really had been a bad Head of Intelligence.

“Still, you need a doctor.”

“First the message!” He needed to warn the General. This could at least save a few lives and win the man a well-earned victory. It wasn’t what he was supposed to do, but it was his only chance. Simcoe did take the bait, he was sure of it and with Abigail, he even had a realistic chance to send the lobsters to hell, one that didn’t include fraternization with the enemy to get André to let him send a letter to some girl he wasn’t really in love with.

Suddenly his plan became a lot less desperate. He nearly felt happy. If only he could see that rare smile on the General’s face again that he got after the victory at Monmorth and the thwarting attempt on the general’s life.

Abigail didn’t seem pleased but right now, Ben didn’t care. He just wanted to warn the General, that was all he cared for right now. And a doctor? He coughed. Even if André would grant him that concession, he would only prolong the inevitable. He would die here, hanged as a spy or from some infected wounds and pneumonia, he couldn’t really see the difference. 

“Tell Anna that the lobster army will march on Tory row, the old headquarters of the General. They believe the patriot army to be there. With this, the general can plan an ambush and fight them away from Boston. Less collaterally.”

“Mr. Benjamin…”

“No, Abigail, you need to send Anna this message. Go to André if you must, do what he wants, but I beg of you, please, send this message.”

She sighed. “Fine, but now, you need to eat. Major André sent me to you with food.”

****

André looked up when Abigail came back. She had been gone for quite some time. “Everything alright, Abi…” He stopped dead, only to dash to her a second later. His hands gripped her shoulders and his glance took her in once more, her dress. “My god, what happened to you?”

“Me, sir?”

He guided her to one of the armchairs and gently pushed her on it, crouching down in front of her. Blasted city! Why was it so difficult for some understand that they needed to treat a woman right, no matter the color of her skin. “There is blood on your dress.”

Abigail looked down and swallowed. “It’s not mine, sir.”

He let out a sigh of relief and squeezed her hand. “Whose is it?”

“Major Tallmadge’s, sir.”

That peaked his blood pressure to an even higher extreme. “Tallmadge? Why is he bleeding? The doctor sutured his wounds days ago. The boy has nowhere to bleed from.” At least he hadn’t had when André left him.

Stubborn to a fault, nearly in love with a false idol, that had mistreated him more than once, but not hurt. “What happened?”

Abigail blinked and looked at him as if he should know about this. About the mistreating of a captive. God, what had they done? And who?

“He was whipped.”

He looked down at the ruined dress of his housekeeper again. Whipping bleeds, whipping hurts, whipping doesn’t bleed that much. “How often?”

The woman swallowed and this time, it is not nervousness, of this he is sure. “I don’t know, sir, but his back looks like… like he was skinned, sir.”

He is out of the door the next second, his plan of leaving Benjamin Tallmadge alone for a bit so his words and little nudges away from Washington can fester all but forgotten. Simcoe! Damn it, he needed the man alive and breathing. His last intention is to waste a boy like Tallmadge on the gallon or this dog.

In his hurry, he didn’t see Abigail run up the stairs to write Anna a letter and he doesn’t see her giving it to an officer to send it to Setauket by special courier like she did so often before. No one wondered about yet another present, no one said a word as they carried Ben’s words to Setauket and Abigail couldn’t stop herself from wondering, if they might be his last, his legacy.

The poor boy!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I made you waiting so long

“Major Tallmadge.”

The boy just laid there, not moving, like a corpse. André could see the blood already from the door. It was smeared over the pillow and the thin blanket. God, no! He rushed to the patriot’s side. Let it not be as bad as I fear. He cringed as he saw up close. It wasn’t. It was worse.

Damn! "I gave strict order not to harm him!”

The guard behind him cringed. “I’m sorry, sir, but the Captain…”

“Is outranked!” He normally wasn’t one to point to the chain of command, but this is outrageous. He wanted to win the boy, turn him, use him and Simcoe just showed him how bad the Brits really are. No matter what Washington did, Benjamin Tallmadge would always be reminded that the royalists were worse. He would just need to look into a mirror. “Get me a doctor.”

“Yes, sir.” The guard hurried away and he is alone with the Major at last. He needs to check on these wounds. Maybe he can get Tallmadge to believe that Simcoe is the only one with such a temper- what wouldn’t even be a lie. 

He would need to forge a letter from Washington, give the boy another push in the right direction. Whatever trust he had already gained, is lost, that is for sure. André brushed the hair out of Ben’s eyes and brooded over the possibility that Simcoe had permission from somebody else. Tactical warfare was often mistaken as weakness after all- or fraternization. Only few understood the finer arts of winning. And losing a man like Tallmadge to the noose or Simcoe was a shame.

Forget Lee, forget his plans with Arnold. Tallmadge would be his crown jewel, his legacy. The man knew all the spies of the Continental army, knew what they themselves knew about theirs, knew Washington’s plans and even better, had his trust. Tallmadge might doubt his position, but he knew better. He knew how much the old fox trusted that young puppy and he knew how often Washington defended Benjamin Tallmadge. He knew a lot of things about him, but he wanted to hear some things from him. Simcoe better have not ruined that chance with his useless barbarism.

Tallmadge whimpered in his sleep and André found himself hushing the boy gently. There was no need for cruelty- nor did he wish to apply any. If not for some misguided loyalties and patriotism, they could very much have been friends. The Major’s intellect was wasted on Washington and his ideas. He needed to write his trustee in the camp and ask for details for what had occurred.

A coughing had him look down. “Caleb?”

He reached for the Major’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You are safe.”

Another coughing. André really started to fear for his lungs. “Your tactics could be seen as schizophrenic at best.”

“I apologize for Simcoe’s lack of manners.”

Ben only huffed and gripped the blankets tighter when he tried to turn around. The doctor better hurried.

×•×

André silenced the man with a hand. “But will he survive this?”

A deep sigh escaped the doctor and André steeled himself for the answer. At least he went outside to talk with the doctor. If Tallmadge heard a fatal prognosis, he would never talk.

“The wounds are already showing signs of infection. This is common in an environment as dirty as this. The blood loss won’t kill him, nor will the wound himself, but the infection might become dangerous.”

“And his coughing?”

The doctor looked up from his instruments and shook his head. “Only time can tell. A warm environment is crucial right now or I can’t make any promises. In his weakened state, a pneumonia is a death sentence.”

Warm environment.. “Can he be moved?”

“Not unless you plan on driving him in a cart.”

“That can be arranged.”

The doctor nodded and was already off the ship when André called him back., an idea forming in his head.“Sir, might I be so bold as to ask you for a second evaluation.”

The other man’s brow furrowed. “I stand by my diagnosis, Major.”

André smiled. “Not on a patient. I need a report in which the wounds of Major Tallmadge are a bit more serious- and I need it to sound convincing.”

“They are serious enough if the infection spreads.”

“Yes, if.” André smiled and pulled out his purse, counting the coins.

“I will not lie to an Officer of his Majesty.”

A soft smile played around the Major’s mouth. “Oh, but I’m not asking you to. Pray tell, do you have the same moral concerns regarding a patriot officer?”

“The boy?”

“His Commander in Chief.”

The doctor spat on the floor and cursed lowly. “That devil can go to hell! I lost two sons against him and a daughter that were caught in the crossfire. Whatever you need to bring him down, you can have it. I would poison the boy myself if it would help Washington’s downfall.”

That would be a waste. Why was everyone thinking in killing the boy to get to Washington or informations? So short-sighted! “A faked evaluation will do. The boy is more valuable alive than dead, but that is something Washington doesn’t need to know. No one risks an escape attempt on a lost Major, giving me plenty of time to get what I want.” 

And if his source was correct, Washington cared for the boy. If he could give the royal army a cutting edge by playing on the feelings of a grieving mentor, so be it.

“You will have it by nightfall.”

In a week the most, Washington would have it and call off any rescue mission he might have planned. That, combined with a faked letter and a bit of much needed comfort might just do the trick.

×•×

When Ben opened his eyes again, he is… warm. His eyelids are heavy, but he fought to keep them open, to see where he is, what is going on. When was he the last time he was so warm? At home? In the brutal summer that had the army loose horses on nearly a daily basis?

But it wasn’t summer, it was cold last time he woke up, wasn’t it? And they hadn’t silk sheets home. Where is he?

“Major?”

Ben blinked up and found himself face to face with John André. He recoiled, screaming at the movement.

“Shh…”

“Save it.” But the tears take the strength out of his words. “I, Major Benjamin Tallmadge, confess to treason against the crown and loyalty to my country and General. Hang me or go.”

He knew how to make a speech, that much was clear. However, André wasn’t here to exchange arguments or cruelties, he didn’t need to. Time would tell him everything he needed to know and play right into his hands. Washington already at a loss. He lost his head of intelligence, a trustee and soon the war.

Gently, he pulled the young man up against a pillow and held a cup to his lips, patiently waiting until the pain in Tallmadge’s back has dulled to a manageable throbbing. Even after a few weeks, the cuts still split from time to time. “You need to drink or else the blood loss will kill you.”

Stubborn as he was, Tallmadge shook his head. God, he really wanted to shake the boy and make him see reason. Why die for something as silly as pride and a lost cause?  
A knock on the door had him put the cup down. “You are too young to die.”

“There is an age for it?” His eyes suddenly were older than they should be. Friend? Brother? He would make reconnaissances.

Abigail opened the door and tried to announce their visitor but the man behind her would have nothing of it.

“Major André, pleasure.” He stepped into the room as if he owned the place.

“Simcoe.” André made a dash for the bed, desperately trying to minimize the damage, but it was too late. 

“Ah, Major Tallmadge. I heard you have been moved.” His hand landed heavy on the boy’s shoulder and no stubbornness can silence the cry, that tore from his throat.

“Enough!” Maybe he could turn this to his advantage, playing the hero for Tallmadge, winning his trust, but Simcoe is too dangerous for this play. He needs Tallmadge alive for his plans.

“Abigail, please see to it, that the Captain finds his way to the door.”

But another man now stood in the door. “Not so quick, André.”

“Colonel.” The glee in Simcoe’s face set him on edge. That couldn’t be good.

“André, I know you had plans and I trust your expertise, but we need answers and we need them now.”

“Maybe this is a discussion we should have outside the room of a captive.”

Simcoe again reached for Tallmadge’s shoulder, the glee growing even more. “No need. And certainly, no need for him to have a room. He doesn’t need one to sing.”

André fastened his eyes on Tallmadge. “I’m afraid you need to go into more detail.”

“Major Tallmadge was so nice to give us the location of the assembly point of the Continental army. With a bit of luck, we can capture Washington there and end this war. Till then, we don’t need to cuddle him.”

A blink that was all it was. No panic he tried to mask, no surprise… The boy didn’t drink because of his patriotism and now mastered this mask in perfection? Upon hearing these plans? “Recall the troops!”

“André…

“Recall them!”

Simcoe cracked an eyebrow. “I must admit, I’m surprised by…”

“You should better have been surprised by the intelligence he gave so willingly. This is a trap.”

“Nonsense, André! He has no way of passing along information. You are starting to chase ghosts.”

But André knew it! And when their eyes met, he saw the glee in Tallmadge’s and knew he lost. The man had endured just long enough to sell the lie and Simcoe had taken the bait. A brilliant spy, but for the wrong side.

“I will host him then on my costs. When you really manage to capture Washington, I’ll put the nose personally around his neck.”

×•×

“Sir, a letter arrived for you. It bears the Royal sigil.”

Washington looked up from his letters and the notes Benjamin had scribbled into a book. Notes neither he nor Hamilton fully understood. “Thank you, Alexander.” He tore his eyes away from the beautiful handwriting and broke the sigil. “That would be all.”

“Your wife is waiting…”

But Martha had already entered. No Colonel would ever manage to give her orders, not even Hamilton.

The young man excused himself and Martha came over, resting her head on top of his. “You need to rest, George.”

He closed his eyes, fighting back the tears that threatened to fall. “I need answers.”

“I know.” She placed a kiss on his hair and he could feel her smile. “Thomas is sleeping.”

Thomas… Now the tears did come. “Has he asked for him again?”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“I sent him to his death, Martha, the boy I wanted to thank and help in his grieving!”

She was silent for a long moment. No lies, it was both reliable and horrible. She didn’t defend him, there was no way to defend this. “He will forgive you.” She finally said. “The boy adores you and he will understand why you did it.”

If he lives.

“Any word of Caleb?”

Washington shook his head and unfolded the letter. Work was the only thing that helped him right now. Work and avoiding Thomas. 

 

“Your Excellency,  
I must regretfully inform you, that while during his captivity on the Jersey, one of our soldiers to the crown overstepped his orders in mistreating Major Tallmadge under interrogation.  
The soldier will be facing a court martial but the doctor informed me that the Major’s condition is dire. With this letter, you will find the doctor's report on you Head of Intelligence. I hope you will see, that this behavior is not representative for the whole army, nor will you apply similar methods to our officers currently in your custody.  
Yours sincerely,  
Major John André

Washington sat there, frozen, unable to move, to say something, even unable to cry. Mistreated… They had tortured Benjamin to the point of dying… 

Martha took the letter from his hands and read it herself. He heard her sharp inhale and felt the hand on his arm. It burnt him. “God… George, you…”

But he didn’t listen, he couldn’t! He had no right to get condolences. It was his fault! His own madness had lashed out and put the boy in this situation. He had known the dangers all along but reading about them, knowing they were happening… Maybe Ben was already dead! Washington buried his head it his hands and wept like a child. 

God, Benjamin, I am sorry. I am so sorry, my boy.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for letting you wait so long, but I had exams, needed to move to a new city and so on... But here you go. I promise, I will finish that fanfiction! 
> 
> Now have fun and please leave a comment- or a few.

His Majesty’s troops lost the battle against the rebels at Boston after being led into an ambush at the former headquarters of the rebel leader, General George Washington.  
General Howard surrendered after the loss of half of his troops to the Continental army. Furthermore, the rebels managed to capture ten officers of his staff and traded them for captives currently in the power of of His Majesty’s army. How the rebels managed this ambush remains unknown.  
Howard has been sent back to England to stand trial for his failure and the loss of over 2000 men.

-

Washington let the newspaper sink down and he studied Hamilton, searching for an answer, for the answer that he wanted to hear. “And the men we got back?”

Hamilton is in his element. “Good and loyal soldiers, a few of them were in the claws of the British since Trenton and…”

He didn’t care. He should, but he didn’t care. “Was he under them?”

There was no need to clarify who Washington was asking for. Hamilton’s smile became forced and then vanished entirely after a moment. “The soldiers will need to see you and…” One glance into the face of his Commander in Chief has him silenced. “No, Your Excellency.”

He tried to hold up his façade, the face of the General, the leader, but it broke long ago and Hamilton can look right through it. “Did anyone of the captured officers know something about his fate?”

Another shift. “No, sir.”

Washington took a sip of wine that tasted like iron, like blood in his mouth. He looked up at the young soldier and his voice sounded half dead. “Don’t lie, Alexander!”

Hamilton gulped and his eyes wandered to the letter he had picked up at Setauket, the letter they owed that victory to, the last gift of Major Benjamin Tallmadge. May he rest in peace. “One of them told me he is held by Major André, the British Head of Intelligence.”

Washington could feel his own hands starting to shake. He felt like a father again, a father begging for news about his sick child. If only Benjamin would just be sick than he could sit with him like he did with Martha’s kids. He could get a doctor to make him better or at least be there for him when he… No!

“And?” Washington nearly choked on that one word.

“He… He said that Simcoe had broken the Major and that Tallmadge gave them information, classified information.”

The General all but jumped out of his chair and onto Hamilton. “That’s a lie!”

Lucky for Hamilton, a desk was between them. The young aide de camp held his hands up but his face is still full of guilt. “I only repeat what I heard.”

Control your god damn temper, George! You already murdered Benjamin, don’t kill your aide de camp as well. Don't... God, he really did murder that innocent boy. He was a monster. The boy had asked for nothing more than a bit of approval and he... he had... Washington’s hands curled around the fabric of his cloak, if only to hold onto something. The next question was a battle of its own. Worse than the one he just won, won thanks to his boy. “Is he alive?”

The silence was too much. "Alexander?"

“He was when they left York City.”

He managed a tiny nod and looked down at the sabre of General Howard, the sign of his victory. A victory, that didn’t taste bittersweet, for bittersweet was a word for people who didn’t know loss and real grief. There was nothing sweet in misery, there was nothing in his. “Any word of Brewster?”

Hamilton shook his head and Washington barely managed to sent the Colonel away before he broke down sobbing. The was nothing sweet in his misery, in his life. He himself murdered the sweet boy he had started to think of as a son.

-

He woke up, coughing. Cold, it was so cold. Where was he?

A hand on his arm. Talking. Someone was talking. Simcoe? André? Did it even matter? Not anymore, not since the fight of Boston, not since André knew he was responsible. What you can’t turn, you kill.

More talking. A hand on his face. Why didn’t he stop? He just wanted to sleep. He wanted to rest. His lungs burned and his back was on fire. He cried, water and blood running down his face, water and iron in his mouth, bile.

Sleep. Please, let me sleep. Unconsciousness was warm, it was a bliss. Life was only torture. The longer he lived, the longer he would need to fight. Why didn’t he take some poison with him? It would already be over. God, please let it be over!

More talking. Questions? Please not! Please no more. Simcoe had asked enough of them. His skin still felt like on it was on fire. How much more would he have to take?  
He blinked into the light but saw only darkness. The army was safe, Boston was safe. Anna got his letter. They were all safe and alive. His friends were alive, the General was alive.  
He blinked and a groan slipped through his dry lips and fought one more battle against the pain, the sadness, the disappointment. Of course the army had better things to do, Washington had better thing to do. Why hadn’t his friends even tried to rescue him? 721. Benjamin Tallmadge. What plans would Hamilton form right now? He was brilliant, he would see the Patriots through this war, he would see the General through this war. He wished he would have seen the new America. He wished he would have had the chance.

I regret that I have but one life to give for my country.

Thank god Thomas was safe.

He blinked into the light one last time and closed his eyes.

A fist connected with his cheek. Alive. More pain. Why? All he could do was cry. Cry and beg for it to be over.

-

Caleb cursed and ducked his head when he heard the hooves on the frozen ground. Horse shite, why did it had to snow like this? Why did the lobsters have to come now? He hid behind the trees and begged that the needles would hide him, would hide them. The hooves got nearer.

He looked down at the figure in front of him. Déjà vu, horrific déjà vu! He was pale like a corpse and the coughing just wouldn’t stop. He looked worse than after the Delaware, he looked like hell.

“No…”

The first word after all this time and Caleb only wished for him to stop talking. They were too close by the city still, they were too close by the lobsters. The redcoats would be here any second and the few half dead trees wouldn’t protect them if Ben wouldn’t stop talking. “Shh, Bennyboy.”

His friend only coughed again. Damn it. Damn him! Caleb pressed his hand over Ben’s mouth to keep him silent. I’m so sorry my friend.

He looked at the thin figure before him and cursed. It had nearly been too late. Leave it to the lobsters to torture someone to the brink of death in a that short amount of time. Anna had only needed two days to organize everything. One day on the road from Setauket to York city and Caleb had been smuggled into the city in a cart full of hay and there he had needed two more to get to Ben. It had nearly been too late.

The horses came to a halt. No!

“There are no tracks, no way he came this way.”

“We need to check the woods as well.”

No, you don’t, you stupid pieces of shite!

“The spy is half dead. You really think he would trek through all that fresh snow?”

“He had help, Major André said it himself.”

Please let them check somewhere else!

Steps.

Steps his way.

“Leave it, Jason. If the rebel spy walks into the woods, he has signed his own death anyways.”

Waiting.

One.

Two.

Tree.

Go!  
Four.

He was nearly in front of the snowdrift we hid behind. Caleb hold his breath. Ben moved again and the tiny movement let him moan into Caleb's hand. 

Five.

“Fine!” The man walked back to his horse. “Let’s search somewhere else.”

The sound of leaving hooves was the best thing I ever heard and the day nearly seemed perfect- that was until Ben started shaking under my hands. Please, let him not have a fever seizure! “Benny? Tallboy, you hear me?”

His forehead burned.

“Ben?”

“Please… no.”

Caleb’s heart shattered. He picked his friend up again and put him on the horse, mounting behind him. Ben lay in his army like a ragdoll, his head lolling onto his chest and the blond wisps stack to his forehead, that was damp with fever. Caleb tugged Ben into his cloak and cuddled him close to his chest, closer than he would ever hold a girl. But Ben was more important than a girl could ever be. He was his friend, his brother. Caleb felt the tremors than battered Ben’s broken form. They needed to get out of the cold, but where should they go? Where could they go?

Doctors were expensive and they would ask questions, the wrong kind of questions. But what other option did they have? Caleb knew the answer, but it wasn’t an option! That wasn’t… Ben moaned again and Caleb pressed his hand to his mouth to stop himself from screaming. It was their only chance. With a bit of luck, Ben could recover long enough to be able to flee with Caleb into neutral territory before Washington found them. With a bit of luck, Ben would survive that long. “You need to fight, Benny. Like last time. Fight for me, you little bastard. I don’t want to bury you in some dirt where I will never find you again, not until you lived that life of yours.”

Benjamin Tallmadge coughed and Caleb tucked him even closer. God, he was burning up! They would need to go back, back to camp, back to Washington. It was the only way.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it took a while but here is the new chapter and it has a long awaited suprise...

“Major.”

Only a sentence, not even that. Ben shook his head but he didn’t have the force to free himself. He is caged, defenseless and extradited. He looked up to see a coat of red.  
“I think I made myself clear, that I don’t want you to hang. One might say that makes me your ally.”

He blinked and tried to focus on the voice but he couldn’t. Why is his vision so clouded? He raised a hand to clear away the fog but a white hot pain shoot up his arm. He wasn’t sure if he screamed but he knew he cried when he tasted the salt on his lips.

“They were good men, Major. Young soldiers, friends, fathers and you had them butchered. This wasn’t war, it was a battue!”

They won! Washington won and he is alive! That is all that counts at the moment, for a dead general was something the redcoat would rub in. It worked, it really did. Thank god, they won!

A hand grabbed his cheek and forced him to look into the eyes of the redcoat. They are tired and full of sadness. “Look at me!”

He shouldn’t anger this man. The thought cut through his mind like a thunderbolt, the knowledge that this might kill him. He didn’t care. He had nothing to live for.

A muscle twitched in the face of the man in front of him. “Why, Major? I tried everything to make you see reason, to save your life. You are a intelligent man, why did you have to sell my kindness to your general?”

He would have done the same, wouldn’t he? They are enemies after all. They might like each other, be like each other, but still, they are enemies, both bound by an oath to two opposing camps, ideas, leaders. Yes, André did help him, save him, feed him and made sure a doctor looked after his wounds, but he wanted to turn him. It was never about him or a friendship, it was always about information and betrayal.

“I am sorry for their losses, on a personal level.” It was all he can give him.

André barked out a harsh laugh. “Don’t give me that!” He calmed himself again and stood up and scrutinized the man, that lay before him. Ben winced under the stare. It reminded him of Washington. Even his face went as cold as the one he is used to get from the general.

“I talked with one of your superiors, a Colonel Hamilton?”

It should be impossible but the name hurt more than his broken bones and his bloody back. It hurt more than the breathing with the broken rips, it hurt more than the past, then Washington’s words for it will get only worse. André wouldn’t tell him about Hamilton, if the man asked about his fate and begged for his release. If the general had.

Hamilton. Washington. The two names blended together in his mind to one person, on opinion, one damnation to offer. Whatever the colonel said, it is the opinion of Washington as well.

André waits a bit longer yet, then, “He refused to talk with me about you or your release. Whatever your plan, Major Tallmadge, you didn’t buy yourself into your Commander's heart again with the blood of our men. On the contrary, he let you here to be hanged or worse, given that I tried to explain your conditions. We are more just to a turncoat than he is to his war hero or however he names you.”

He named him a traitor. Silently, the tears formed in his eyes until he was unable to hold them back anymore. What did he expect? He can’t bring himself to look into the eyes of the redcoat, but the hand on his cheek knew no pardon. The eyes of Major André are disappointed and sad- but not cruel, not angry. He gulped, the comparison coming without asking.

“See it as an act of last kindness, that I will not hand you over to Simcoe for the treatment you very much deserve in the eyes of our troops.”

“You will hang me anyway.”

André shook his head but it wasn’t a clear denial. “I still have hope, Major. Rest, get better- and…” He stopped himself and waved it off. “I gave Simcoe and the others order not to harm you. Whatever I can, I will protect you and I will treat you as good and just as I can.”

André would, but not the person he wished that treatment of. Stupid, he had been so stupid. He was a lowly Major, a simple tool in the hands of his general. He should have known better. Hope dies last, they say. It was a lie! Hope had died long before him.

As soon as Major André left the house, Simcoe returned.

***

Ben was hot to the touch and shivered like mad, coughing like a dying man. No doctor needed to tell him the diagnosis: Pneumonia.

Caleb cursed and pulled him closer, tried to cure him with a bit more warmth, but it was of no use. Ben’s health never quite recovered from the Delaware and this was too much for his body.

If only he could help him, do something to ease the suffering, the pain, the coughing. If only it wouldn’t be pneumonia. Ben’s mother died of it all these years ago, Samuel died of it on the Jersey. Ben had always been fearless, even as a child but afraid of this sickness. Back when they were kids, Caleb used to tell him, that there was no need for fear and that he would never allow him to get so sick. But now? Caleb looked into the fever clouded eyes of his friend and wished his childhood promise would be true. He couldn’t even get Ben to drink enough water and his mumbling got worse. Fever dreams? Flashbacks? “Stay with me, Bennyboy!”

The snow was getting higher now that he rode up north. Cold and damp it was, covering every inch of the ground and wetting the firewood. The horse needed more time than normal, making the ride agonizing slow, agonizing long. Ben started to cry.

It was already dark when Caleb found a cave that was dry and big enough for the both of them. “See, Tallboy, everything alright. Your god seems to remember us again. Soon you’ll be back to normal again.”

Ben wasn’t listening and he didn’t believe himself, so he stopped talking, stopped lying. Caleb rubbed over his weary eyes and wondered if he should check Ben’s wounds or let it be till they would reach the camp where he could hope for a bit more hygiene. “Hey, you with me, Benny?”

He cupped his friends face, but Ben recoiled from the touch like he had been burned, curling into himself and shivering. He looked like a broken shell, a beaten dog. Caleb’s hands curled into fists at the site of this. God, what had they done with him? “Benny?”

“No… please.”

It is only a whisper, but it rings in Caleb’s ears like a thunderstorm. Ben, begging him to stop, begging the redcoats to stop. What had they done with him? Pictures appear in front of his eyes, pictures he can’t fight off, can’t ignore.

The last prison exchanges he went on.

Simcoe.

The stories they tell each other at night, stories of a mad king and crazy lobster officers, cruel and…

His fist came down, hitting the ground. He wanted to get André into his fingers, wanted to murder him with his bare hands. He still remembered the letter they got from Abigail, her words carved into his mind forever. Anna had held him for what had seemed like forever while he had wept, they both had wept over Ben’s fate. And just because of these madmen. Simcoe and Washington.

Ben sobbed and it broke his heart.

He needs to see the wounds. Now! Caleb was sure if he would wait one more minute, it would kill him. It would… His fingers curled around Ben’ shirt and slowly, with trembling fingers, he pulled it up. Ben shivered and tried to curl himself into a ball again, away from the hands, away from the cold air that hit him as soon as Caleb lifted the shirt.

With a tenderness no one would think Caleb Brewster, the unshaven whaler and drunk, capable of, he stroked over his friend’s feverish face. “Hush, just for now, Benny. It’s over soon, promise!”

“Caleb…”

“I’m here! Benny, I’m here.”

However, Ben didn’t hear him, didn’t understand, just called out for a friend. A fever dream. This is wrong, all so wrong! Ben shouldn’t lie there shivering and sick, it wasn’t fair. He was the best of them, the most just, loyal and kind-hearted man Caleb knew, would ever know. Why him?

“I’ll be careful, Tallboy, I promise.” And with that, he pulled the shirt up to Ben’s chin.

“Jesus!” Caleb let go of the shirt and shook his head in disbelief. Abigail had written about whipping and maybe beating, but this? His fingers traced along the red and swollen skin. It looked infected to him and he no longer wondered why his friend was battling a fever. There, on Ben’s chest, right above his heart, was a nasty burn. They had branded him like some animal and didn’t even care for the open flesh.

“Please…”

“I’m here Ben.” But his voice is just as broken as Ben’s. Jesus, what had they done to him?

It takes two more days for them to reach camp, two long days full of worry, fever dreams and coughing, two days full of fear and still, Caleb isn’t sure if it was the right decision to come back to the army, to bring Ben here, into the reach of no other than Washington himself, the madman that started all this.

It is a dangerous move, that is for sure, but Caleb only needs to take one look at his best friend to see they have no other choice. Ben hasn’t woken up for the last twelve hours or so and his fever has risen even more. The wounds, his coughing… He might not make it.

The mere thought has Caleb gripping the rein tighter. No! No, he wouldn’t let him die! Ben will live! Of all people, he is the one that should survive, needed to survive, had to survive. Praying they might make it to a tent without running into someone, without running into Washington, Caleb eased Ben of the horse and carried his friend away. Ben didn’t even wake.

After a battle there were always empty tents and Caleb chose the next best. He dragged Ben inside and eased him onto the cot, tugging the thin blanket around him. “Hey, Tallboy, wake for me, will you?”

But Ben didn’t. He laid there like the dead, unmoving and pale. He hadn’t eaten the cracked or drunk since a day and the cracked lips and wet brow spoke of his condition. He needed a doctor. 

“I’ll be back soon!”

Ben didn’t answer and with one more look, Caleb slipped outside again to find a doctor and for the first time in years he prayed again: Dear god, please let him still be alive when I return. Please let him survive this. I know he is the best, but if you dare to take him away from us, you will regret this!

The doctor sat in a chair and read by the light of a candle, a picture that looked so out of place here, that looked so much like Ben that it hurt. That was, what Ben was supposed to do, supposed to look like. Reading, teaching, being clever, not sick, broken and half dead. Caleb nearly choked on a sob.

“Doctor?”

The man looked up, worry in his face. “Another parole or just a brawl under officers?”

Caleb chose to ignore the question. “My friend needs help. He is sick and… you need to come. Now!”

He slowly, maddening slowly put the book down and got up. “Where is your friend?”

“In his tent.”

“And what ails him?”

His voice was barely audible when he finally managed to say something. “A lot.”

They walk through the snow back to the little drafty tent he had left Ben in and Caleb got quicker with every step until he is practically running.

“Calm yourself, young man. Not everyone is so quick and young.”

But he can’t. He can’t calm himself, can’t bring himself to waste one more second that might decide about Ben’s fate.

When he stepped into the tent again, the first thing Caleb registered was how cold it was inside. His breath was forming little clouds in front of his face and his fingers were stiff from the cold. Ben would die in here.

The doctor moved over to the cot his friend lay on, curled into himself to seek the bit of warmth his body was yet able to provide and one hand on his forehead told him, that the fever had risen even higher. He coughed, a painful sound that had Caleb thinking of death and wasting, of Ben’s mother the day before she died.

“Is it only the sickness?”

He shook his head, unable to speak. Suddenly everything seemed so hopeless.

The doctor pulled the shirt up and the burn looked even worse than two days back. Ben whimpered but it was to quiet for the doctor to hear- or to care.

His fingers moved along the edge of the sigil burned into Ben’s skin and that had him wake. He screamed and Caleb tore the doctor away from his friend. “I didn’t ask you here to hurt him more!”

The older man tore his arm free and turned Ben, ignoring the soft snivels that the major let slip. Ben’s back has Caleb taste bile. God, no! “What does he need to take?”

A shake of his head.

“What?”

“Listen, Lieutenant, I know it is hard and difficult to understand, but there is nothing to be done.”

“Meaning?”

The doctor sighed and with much care, began, “Medicine is rare and precious and the Major might not recover even with the best of it. It would be a waste and unfair to those who need it later and have a better chance to live.”

The fist hit him right into his face and Caleb was sure he felt something break under his hands. Probably the nose. Good! “You will save him!”

The doctor tore himself free and fled the tent, Caleb on his toes. “See reason, Lieutenant!”

“Reason? Horse shite! You gonna see your maker if you won’t help him.”

“Lieutenant…”

“No!”

“Please…”

Ben had said the same, over and over again. His fist came down again. “You will help him and don’t you dare say he isn’t worth it again.”

“Please… General.”

“You…”

“Lieutenant!” That had Caleb looking up. It wasn’t the word but the voice saying it. He knew that voice. Washington.

“Care to explain why you are beating an innocent and defenseless man to death before I hang you?”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The long awated reunion!!!!
> 
> PS: I took a small historical liberty with this chapter, I hope you don't mind.

“Hang me? I guess that’s what you do with your men, isn’t it General?”

Washington already opened his mouth to call for a soldier when he suddenly recognized the words, the voice. Brewster! His arms that had separated the two fell limply to his sides. Caleb Brewster, he was here. He was back in camp. Was he… could it be? Washington’s voice wavered as he spoke. “Where is Major Tallmadge?”

A hard look crossed over the lieutenant's face and his hopes sank yet again. Oh, god. “What happened?”

Silence yet again.

He had lost all the steal in his voice and without it, it was a wavering plead. “Lieutenant, please.”

Absently, he registered the departure of the doctor but he didn’t care. He just wanted to have the news of Ben, to hear him alive and well, to… “Talk to me!”

A coughing from the tent behind him broke the silence. It was pitiful and painful to listen to, let alone feel it. Washington went pale. “Is that… Lieutenant?”

“You happy now?”

Washington dashed past Caleb and into the tent. 

It was dark in the tent, too dark to really see anything, too dark to even try, but he still heard it, the wet coughing that just wouldn’t stop. “Benjamin?”

There was no answer, no coherent one that is, only the coughing and a soft whimper that had Washington’s eyes well up with tears. What could have this major whimper like a lost child? What…?

Brewster entered the tent behind him, a lantern in his hands and the light made him choke. Ben laid there on the cot, small and broken and pale like a corpse. The fierce major was gone, the vivid youth that could battle and argue and was headstrong and clever, gone. Before him lay a sick child, that had been abandoned by those who should care for it. Abandoned by him.

“You happy? He is almost dead!”

Washington couldn’t hear him, couldn’t understand him as he slowly crouched next to Ben and held a hand to his brow. Alarmed, he looked up. The young man didn’t just have a fever, he was burning up. “Where is the doctor?”

Caleb shook his head and kneeled next to Washington, softly stroking his friends sweat-soaked hair. Suddenly he had lost his attitude, his anger, his… he looked nearly as broken as Ben. “You just sent him away.”

“But what did he say?” Desperation is starting to creep into his voice but he doesn’t care. 

“He said it is hopeless and that the medicine should be reserved for those with better chances to survive.”

A blow to the stomach couldn’t have hurt more. In the light of the lantern he saw a cut on Ben’s cheek. It is nothing dangerous, nothing threatening and yet everything that happened to the boy. Malevolence without reason. It would scare and reminds him of this encounter whenever he would look into a mirror. His fingers softly traced over the wound. “Go after the doctor and tell him I want to see him in the mansion.”

“Can’t someone else…”

“Go!”

However, Caleb didn’t move and Washington didn’t grant him another look. His hands trembled when he picked up Ben and huddled him into his chest. The poor boy. He would need a warm fire and a real blanket and medicine- and a wonder.

The little bundle is far to light in his arms. Ben had never been big but know he is nothing more than a few bones. The feeling of the body in his arms brought back memories of Thomas and of Martha's children. He hugged Ben closer, pressed him into his chest and vowed not to let history repeat itself. Not this time, not with Ben.

“George? You are late again! Thomas has asked so… What happened?” The book Martha had been reading in fell to the ground while she ran to him. “George, what…”

“Get a bath ready- quick!”

Ben coughed again and his whole body shook like a leaf in a hurricane. Washington felt him wince, felt him curl into himself. He mumbled something, but he couldn’t understand what it was- maybe he didn’t want to.

“Is that…”

He nodded, suddenly tired and drained of all than his fear for Ben as he carried the boy closer to the fire. His hands were ice cold and he was shivering, no matter how badly his forehead burned. Like a flower to the sun, he turned his face and the golden and lively light painted the shadow of death on his hollow cheeks.

He heard Martha jogging through the house to get Billy but he didn’t move. He just studied the sick face of the boy he thought he would never see again. “I’m sorry, Benjamin. I’m so sorry! I wish you could forgive me, but I will never be able to forgive myself. I…” He ran a hand through his hair and thought back to the fear in Ben’s face, to the tears. Did he think of the general that had sent him to his death while he endured all this? Did he curse him? Hate him? All this pain for a general that betrayed him.

Only after a few moments, Washington registered he hadn’t even considered the possibility Ben had talked- and it’s an impossible one. Not because of the wounds but because of the boy, the boy he had nearly gotten killed.

Steps. “The bath will be ready soon, George.”

He nodded for everything else would be to much.

“I brought a blanket and some fresh clothes for later. He needs to get out of these wet things before his lungs take damage.”

Another coughing attack, wet and painful. Tears run down Ben’s face but he isn’t waking up. With a sudden fear he remembered Ben’s old injuries. The doctor had mentioned cracked ribs. Cracked ribs and coughing! Another attack hit him and he dangled like a ragdoll in Washington’s arms. “I’m afraid it is too late for that.”

The old pain that had been nagging at his heart was suddenly written all over her beautiful face. “Still!” She took the scissors she also brought and made quick work with his clothes.

“Jesus!” The scissors fell to the ground, the only sound in the room for what seemed like forever, while Washington and his wife could only stare at the bloody form of Benjamin Tallmadge.

“The bath is ready, sir.” Billy’s voice rang through the room.

He nodded, still unable to move.

“Is that… is that a burn?” Martha whispered.

Washington looked up and was surprised to find his wife’s worried eyes not on Benjamin but on him.

“George, this isn’t your fault! You can’t take the…”

“I sent him away. He fled the camp and me because of my temper, my… This is my fault, Martha, this is all my fault! I should be locked away like my enemies like to suggest. I am dangerous and don’t try to deny it!” He stroked the sweat soaked wisps out of Ben’s eyes. “This is all my doing.”

She cupped his face and forced him to look at her. “Is this the reason you avoided me these past days? The reason you avoided Thomas? Our son?”

“He isn’t our son.”

“Yes, George, he is. You wanted to adopt him!”

“I wanted…” He had wanted her to be happy, to have a child again. Her own were long dead and he couldn’t give her any and Thomas was sweet and needed a guardian. He never realized he hadn’t taken the boy away from Ben for himself, he had only done it for Martha.

“I see.”

“Martha…”

She held a finger to his lips. “Don’t, I understand. It is sweet of you and I feel both honored and loved by the thought how much you care for me, my well-being and my happiness and you meant only the best for all, of that I am sure, but there is more to life than showing someone you like him by giving him or her a substitute. You can’t hide away from those that want your company.”

He huffed. “Like Benjamin did?”

Silence.

“Let’s get him into the bath.” He picked the boy up, so carefully as if he was made of the finest china. “Make sure to send a doctor to him after the bath, Brewster should already get one.”

“Where will he sleep?”

She had hesitated, he didn’t. “The master bedroom. It’s the only one with a fireplace and he needs all the warmth he can get. We will move into one of the smaller ones.”

“George…”

“Later, Martha, please.” And with that, he walked past her to the bathroom, Ben curled into himself in Washington’s arms.

×

The bathroom wasn’t far away but Washington dreaded the moment they would be there. Ben’s chest was bad, but he was under no illusion that it wasn’t his only wound. He would find this Major André and he would see him hanged. No, not hanged, that was by far a too merciful death. His fine words and niceties couldn’t cover up the brutal ways in which he had mistreated Ben and his regrets where nothing but mockery.

The tube was filled with steaming water when he entered the bathroom with Ben. Thankfully, Martha had been clever enough not to add soap to the water. Even the pure liquid might hurt like hell in the open wounds but the dirt and cold might leave Benjamin. He peeled away the remaining clothes and lowered him into the water. He suddenly couldn’t bring himself to check for more wounds.

Ben sobbed.

As soon as the water touched his back he began, uncontrollably and with an intensity that had Washington taste tears himself. He turned Ben around to check his back and sucked a breath in as he saw the raw and swollen skin. Infection. And he knew this kind of wound. God, Benjamin!

Hanging really was too merciful for André.

But the wounds needed to be cleaned. Washington hated himself with every fiber of his being when he lowered Ben into the water again. The sobbing didn’t die down for minutes.  
“I’m sorry, Benjamin. I’m so sorry.”

The boy lost the last bit of consciousness in his arms and only then did Washington allow the tears to come. Gently, he rubbed the dirty of Ben’s skin and cleaned his wounds. Cuts, whips, broken bones, burns, … The last day had been hell to him and he had been the devil, condemning a sweet and innocent boy to suffer.

“The doctor is waiting in the bedroom.”

“Thank you, Martha.”

She stepped next to him and squeezed his shoulder. “You really do care for him, don’t you?”

“I don’t want to lose him, Martha.” His voice was only a whisper now. “I couldn’t bare it.”

“I know, George. We won’t lose him. We will fight for him and he will live.”

We. “Thank you.”

She smiled sadly. “Let’s get him to the doctor and in a warm bed. The boy looks like he needs it.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for all of you, who told me they wanted the story to go on.

Caleb had dragged the doctor to Washington’s house, not caring what the idiot screamed or begged. If not for Ben, he would shoot him on the spot! Ben, not being worth the medications he so desperately needed… Benny! It was a bad joke, all of this. He still hoped for the moment he would wake up to find it all a bad dream. But it wasn’t. Benjamin really was sick, sick and hurt and in the claws of Washington. Caleb wasn’t sure if the British might have been the better option. They were brutal, but Washington was mad- and Ben loyal to him. He would do the whole thing again and again for his general. He fought for him, bleed for him and would gladly die for him and never receive a word of thanks. 

Why did Benny have to befriend Nathan Hale? Why did he have to enter the army? Why did they have to send Woody’s message to Washington? 

“Release me!” 

Caleb pushed the doctor over the doorstep. No need to talk to this guy. He was just still conscious because of Benjamin. He dragged him upstairs and literally stood there, pistole ready and aimed at the doctor’s chest. 

Billy gestured towards a door and Caleb shoved the doctor into the room, but Ben wasn’t there. 

Sighing, the doctor turned around. “Listen, I already told you, it is a waste…” 

“A waste of what?” Washington stormed into the chamber like a whirlwind and nothing seemed to be able to sustain that force, not even the ignorance of the doctor- but it did. 

“He is nearly dead. Put him out of his misery and let me treat patients with more chances to survive.” 

Pistole all but forgotten, Caleb grabbed the doctor’s shirt and dragged him closer, until he more felt Caleb’s next words then heard them. “This is my friend you are talking about!” 

“Everyone has a friend. Should I let the friends of other men die? See reason!” 

Washington’s gaze became colder. “Reason?” 

“The medicine is wasted on him. He has a pneumonia and more damaged bones and skin than hole. He is just a soldier!” 

More gentle than Caleb had thought it possible, Washington lowered Ben onto the large bed. His face and body were clean again, his hair wet. Caleb shuddered at the thought of Ben’s wounds. The hole thing must have been torture to his friend and he was more than sure he felt it, even in deep unconsciousness. Pain, agony and no one but Washington to sooth him. Caleb rubbed a hand over his bearded face and cursed inwardly. He should have been there! 

 

Upon hearing these words, Washington turned around, his face hardening and took a step towards the doctor. “So you just regard his life as not worth saving? Because he is just a soldier?” 

“General…” 

“Enough!” He rarely got loud, but now he screamed and it made the whole room cower. “Enough.” 

At that sound, Ben whimpered in his sleep and Caleb moved to stand between Washington and Ben. Like he was a dangerous animal that could snap at any second. Like Ben needed protection from him. He did. 

A painted look crossed over Washington’s face but he forced the neutral face of the general on, the mask he wore for the world. That was a battle for another day. Right now, the most important thing was to get the doctor to treat the boy. Rather alive and receive only hatred from him than dead and be liked. “I demand his treatment. Any costs I will personally repay. Just see to it, that the boy gets better.” 

“I…” 

“Just do it, man, or I’ll try out some English persuasion methods. You can see the damage they cause at Major Tallmadge’s body.” 

The man went pale under his smirk. “You wouldn’t dare…” 

“I wouldn’t bet on that.” Washington looked up to see Martha standing in the doorframe and her face let even the doctor tremble. She was proof enough that women should be in the army. No lioness could compare with her if she had set her mind on something. And she had done so now. 

She walked over to the friends and hushed Caleb aside. He moved without complain! Martha had that effect on people. 

“Now, look at me, my boy.” Her hand gently tapped his cheek, but Ben stayed unconscious. Like dead. “Benjamin?” 

Nothing. 

Caleb looked like crying and Washington felt not a bit better. Would Ben ever wake again? 

“He has a fever. I need a bowl of cold water and some linen sheets. Also, I need a cup of water and some soup.” She looked up at the doctor. “Go on, do as I told you.” 

“Madame…” 

“After all, I seem to be the only one able to treat this boy, what makes you a normal servant. Go, get me some cold linens.” She already turned around, a hand on Ben’s cheek, softly stroking the swollen skin around the cut on his cheek. “Come now, wake up, my boy.” 

But Ben didn’t manage that miracle, not even for her but he tried, his lids trembling. New tears welt up, as Martha gently pulled the loose shirt up, that Washington had pulled over his head. 

Scandalized, the doctor took a step towards her. “Madame…” 

She ignored the man and hushed Ben softly, then she began checking for broken bones, closely watching his face. “Do you have my linens?” 

The doctor blinked. “No, but…” 

“Then go, get them.” 

And to the surprise of everyone, the man left the room. 

“Madame, I take my hat off to you. That truly was a small wonder. If you’d been born a man, we might have already won that war.” 

Washington didn’t miss the glance, Caleb through him will speaking, but he couldn’t care less for personal vendettas and hatred right now. He only cared for the broken shell of the man he had sent away, away to die. 

When the doctor returned, Martha took the linens and without a word began wiping Benjamin’s brow. “I need honey and a needle.” 

The doctor wanted to say something, probably refuse or argue, but Caleb just pulled out his pistol again. “Do it.” 

Martha stroke a few wisps of damp hair out of Ben’s eyes, so much the picture of a mother it hurt to look at it. The boy coughed again and huddled closer to her warmth, to her gentleness. Martha smiled and cupped his face. “We will get you well again, won’t we?” 

As she heard the doctor enter, she nodded him a thank you, not looking up from the boy in front of her. “Leave now.” 

The doctor went, but Washington and Caleb remained. 

“Please, leave.” 

Caleb cringed, but he set his chin and took a deep breath. “I am sorry, Madame, but no. I will stay.” 

Now, Martha did look up. “I certainly hope so. I meant you, George.” 

Washington blinked. She what? “Martha! Why...” 

“Outside.” And then, with a last look on Benjamin. “Stay with him for a moment, will you Caleb?” 

He almost saluted before dashing to his friend’s side and picking up the wetted linen. “Yes, Madame.” 

She smiled at his enthusiasm and loyalty, then she walked over to the door. “Come, George.” 

He followed, not really knowing what he was doing or why his own wife told him to leave the room. She couldn’t, could she? He had always been afraid of the moment she would see how dangerous he was, how he could lash out. Maybe she just decided he should keep away from Ben, from Thomas, from her. He tried to gulp down the tears but it was difficult. God, it was difficult. 

When she turned around to look at him, she had a smile on her face, but it was a sad one. He already knew what she would say. 

“You should keep your distance for now, George.” 

It still hurt. Like hell. 

“I see.” When he finally managed these words, he felt like his last strength had left his body with them. He felt lost, broken. Hollow. So hollow. 

Martha took his hand, but the gesture couldn’t chase away the nothingness. Maybe it was for the better. He wasn’t sure if he could manage what lay behind this emptiness. 

“He is in a bad shape and when he wakes up, he might be delirious, afraid... Give him time, George. Just give him time. We will mend this, but for now, he shouldn’t struggle or anything. He should feel safe.” 

“And he isn’t with me around.” 

“No! But he might feel... Your last meeting didn’t end well. There might be trepidations on both sides, don’t you think?” 

Yes... Trepidations... That was one word for it. “For how long?” 

Martha sighed and Washington already knew he wouldn’t like the answer. “For how long it will take. This isn’t easy for you, George, believe me, I know, but think of the boy. Give him time to process what has happened. He will forgive you.” 

No... Washington gave her hand a weak squeeze, then he let go and turned around. He needed... No, not to be alone, but he... Mechanically, he wiped his eyes to clear his view and was surprised to find his eyes and cheeks damp. He looked up and found himself standing in the woods behind the house. The snow and wind, the people that he might have walked by, he couldn’t care less, hadn’t registered until now. Washington looked up to the clouded sky and started praying. He prayed for the first time in what felt like years, might have been years. Silently, he sank on one knee and begged for forgiveness and a wonder. He begged for the life of his son.

**Author's Note:**

> So, did you like it? I would be over the moon with a review (And I will sent postcards from space ;) )


End file.
